


The Art of Shadow Boxing

by TommyLane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Seventh Year Told In Flashbacks, Angst, Bottom Harry, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pining, Repressed Memories, Slow Burn, Top Draco, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, World Traveling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 178,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommyLane/pseuds/TommyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been seven years since Draco fled the Wizarding world, intending never to look back. He’s made a name for himself as a professional fighter and finds comfort in his new life. But all that is about to change in the course of one evening when someone from his past shows up during the most important fight of his life and sets a sequence of events in motion that could very well either heal or destroy him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Art Of Shadow Boxing

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is really two stories in one - the first is told in the present tense from Draco's POV and the second is an alternate seventh year told in flashbacks that are greatly important to what is happening in the NOW of the story.

It's the thumping in my ears, the smack of the cracked pavement beneath my feet, the pulse that drives and drives and drives.

  
  
It's oblivion.

  
  
The morning sky streaks its orange and red through the smog of the city, the unknown lives swarming in convulsing waves around me. It swallows me up and spits me out all the while the sweet drag of my breath catches the air as I force myself faster, letting the beat drown my senses. Sweat drips down my forehead from beneath the dark gray hood and I am solitary.

  
  
It is me and the ground and the sky and the rhythm in my ears, nothing else exists, nothing else can touch me.

  
  
I never thought I would find such release, such freedom, in physical activity. I had shunned it, cringed from it, standing back and directing my lackeys whenever there was a need that demanded the expense of my body. If you would have told my childhood self that I would crave this, crave the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, find comfort in the squeeze of my lungs as I push myself past my limit, I would have laughed in your face.

  
  
But times have changed and it is now my everything.

  
  
Pulling the headphone buds from my ears, I slow to a jog, pushing open the thick door before me with my shoulder - the solid smack of flesh against flesh and the deep thuds of skin against heavy pads filling my ears. Brushing the hood off my head, I wind my way to the back of the gym, kicking off my trainers under a bench and grabbing a jump rope.

  
  
"You're early."

  
  
I glance up at the gruff voice, swinging the rope over my head and jumping in a quick repeating pace. There's no use counting now, not with Donnie leaning casually against the lockers, his hawk eyes never leaving my bouncing feet. I don't bother answering, just lift my eyebrows lightly as I concentrate on the breath pushing in and out of my lungs.

  
  
"Ready for tonight?" Donnie asks, his short and thin frame moving towards me, his wizened face more a sign of his stress filled life than age.

  
  
"Of course." Breathe in one two, out one two. And repeat.

  
  
"She'll be there you know, there's a lot riding on this match Dray."

  
  
It's an unnecessary reminder, I know very well the importance of me winning tonight, Madame Safiya's words imprinted on my brain ever since she spoke them so softly and clearly a week ago. Losing is not an option if I value any sort of future.

  
  
"Relax Donnie," I say, tossing the rope back onto the bench and dropping to the ground, palms flat under my shoulders, toes curled upwards on the floor. I extend up and down, keeping my back in a straight line, eyes focused on the crude grimy concrete. "I don't plan on breaking my winning streak any time soon."

  
  
I can feel him watching me, his breath drawing long and hard before he speaks again. "Don't get over confident, you've seen him fight?"

  
  
Another unnecessary question. Shen is a good deal bigger than your average Muay Thai fighter, all bulging muscle and sneering features that won him the favor of western audiences. But he is slow and that is a fatal flaw against a skilled opponent. Because brute strength isn't the backbone of Muay Thai, rightly dubbed The Art of Eight Limbs. No it's about skill and resolve and determination and focus.

  
  
It's a rhythmic dance.

  
  
And that dance flows through my blood in a manner I've never known before, the pulse of it dragging me through any fog or confusion or fear. My slight build perfect for the graceful but powerful moves unique to Thai boxing, where elbows cut like knifes and knees fly through the air with crushing speed and force. I was amazed at how quickly I picked it up, how fast I fell in love with it - my salvation coming not from a degraded mundane existence but this. This little violent world of underground fights and crime lords that like to play us as puppets to make their fortune.

  
  
They pull their strings and we dance but despite what Madame Safiya may believe I am not her tool. She is mine.

  
  
"Shouldn't you be building me up?" I send him a hint of a smile as I roll onto my back, fingers linked behind my head, legs bent at the knee. My abdominal muscles tighten and clench as I press up towards my knees, Donnie appearing before me with focus mitts on his hands, my arm automatically surging forward in a quick but solid jab before I descend back down.   

  
  
"You don't need an ego stroke." Crunch up, punch one, two, and down. "In fact you should be home preparing."

  
  
My fist hits the pad with a resounding thud that I know sends a jolt of pain through my trainer’s hand. "I am preparing."

  
  
"You know what I mean, you should be resting your body and focusing your mind."

  
  
"I'm always focused." I tell him but not in a haughty way because it's the simple truth. There is nothing outside of the ring, of my training, for me. There is nothing pulling at my attention, nothing demanding my time. I have no friends apart from this world, take no part in the salacious sins of the night life this particular city holds - I sleep and wake and eat and breathe all to the rhythm of the fight.

  
  
It is my very blood and heart.

  
  
Donnie lets out a harsh laugh that if I didn't know better would think of as a mockery. "There's no denying that. In fact I think it's safe to say that you should probably lighten up." He reels back on his heels at the force of my jabs and shakes his head. "After tonight's match I'm taking you out. Get you a drink and a girl."

  
  
"Maybe." I reply, not really having any intention on going through with it, the idea leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I let my back rest against the cool ground for a moment, my callused fists lying loose on my stomach where the muscles beneath are burning pleasantly.

  
  
"Go home Dray, I'll see you tonight."

  
  
I nod, hearing him get up from the floor and make his way over to another group of fighters. All people I know, people I could possibly even call friends if I ever decided to let them in enough. But to lower my wall would be to invite chaos back in and I have had enough of that for more than one lifetime.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
"Dray...you listening buddy?"

  
  
"Mhmm?" My attention snaps away from the wall I had been staring silently at and over to Caleb, a small brunet with a boxy chin, wide shiny eyes, and a thirst for the glory in a fight. He's yet to enter a real competition yet though, Donnie stating that he's not ready but he's a good sparring partner and always accompanies me to my matches.

I eye him as he threads the black cotton wrap through my fingers, over my bottom knuckles and around my wrist - a methodical procedure that repeats, repeats, and repeats till the long length is snugly secure around my hand.

  
  
"I was wondering what you're going to do after winning tonight?" He asks, eyes bouncing up for a quick moment to glance at me before diving back down to his work of preparing my hands.

  
  
I stretch my back against the cold mud slapped wall, the wooden bench creaking beneath my weight. My fingers twitch in his grasp and I have to force myself to remain still so I don't wrench away from him and finish the wrapping myself. I don't much like being touched, ironically enough. But I catch my tongue, reign in my cringing nerves and let him work - reminding myself that it's a sign of respect for him to be helping me.

  
  
"Might grab a drink." I reply noncommittally. I like Caleb, I really do but it's hard to go out at night. When I'm training or fighting the press of bodies all around me barely registers and I can push it back as if it's a phantom, nothing but a wisp, but when the thunder of adrenaline and the tunneling focus needed to win fades away, I can't tolerate it. It closes in on me like knifes nicking at my flesh and I have to run, have to close myself off where there's nothing but silence.

  
  
He snorts. "Now why don't I believe that?" He flashes me a winning smile that I've personally seen melting many a girls’ hearts and his fingers pause briefly over my knuckles. "But you should celebrate after you -"

  
  
"If," I interject, not one to usually place any doubt in my abilities but there's something in his eyes that's making me a bit nervous and I don't need that right now.

  
  
"Right if you win, you should celebrate for once." He pulls the wrap tight once more and secures it closed. "Since you seem to have a weird hatred about being around other living people unless you’re beating the shit out of them maybe we could have a drink at your place...a little victory party or something?" He picks up the other wrap from the bench and grasps my bare hand, starting the process all over again without looking at me.

  
  
I flex and curl my fingers, testing the binding as I let his proposition sink into me. I don't know what to make of it, don't even know what to think of it, and truth be told I don't really want to give the energy to figuring it out. At least not right now. Maybe after the fight but before the adrenaline high leaves my body, my mind is always clearest than, less encumbered by...memories.

  
  
But there's a tension stretching through the small room now that's waiting for my answer, demanding some sort of response. "Let's not jinx it, we'll talk after yeah?" Caleb looks up and smiles a crooked smile that pangs a bit too familiar.  You'd think seven years would have sufficiently dulled the ache but it hasn't and maybe that's because I haven't let it go. Perhaps it’s time though and I force myself to curve a small smile of my own.

  
  
Of course the shadows I've spent all this time running from are deep and dark, ever shifting, and always dangerous with a death grip latched around me. It's not going to be easy. Yet somehow allowing that little unhindered smile feels like a gigantic step in the right direction.

  
  
The dingy graffiti stained door bangs open and Caleb's fingers slip, the wrap sagging loose and out of place in an instant. I hear him mutter a curse as he loops back his latest weave and starts again as Donnie bursts into the room.

  
  
"On in twenty Dray, you ready boy?" He smells likes he's been drinking, doused in tequila, as he sways into the room. I raise an eyebrow as he catches the door with his heel and sends it slamming shut, trying not to be annoyed that my coach is spirally into drunkenness. "There's a lot riding on this match!" He reminds me for the second time today and this time I don't hold back my eye roll.

  
  
"Yes I'm quite aware." I reply through clenched teeth. Bloody hell he's going to be absolutely no use to me tonight.

  
  
Donnie hiccups and falls onto the filthy couch in the corner, his eyes swimming in the drinks he's consumed. Truth be told he must be a right nervous wreck if he's taken to so much alcohol already, I wonder just what sort of pressure Madame Safiya is placing on him?

"Quite? Good god Dray I swear sometimes your nothing but a spoiled rich kid with the way you talk." He chuckles at his own joke and I exchange annoyed looks with Caleb. "Or maybe you just watch too many of those old movies huh? Like the Rat Pack a little too much do you?" He goes on, slipping backwards on the couch in his own hilarity.

  
  
Rat Pack? I try not to show my ignorance, there's still so much about the Muggle world that eludes me, as I sigh. Yup he's going to be no bloody use. Caleb finishes with my hand and scoots back as I stand up, rolling my shoulders to relive the tension building in the muscles. Picking up the focus mitts from the bench I toss them at Caleb, his eyes widening somewhat as he catches them.

  
  
I'm being disrespectful.

  
  
It's Donnie who should be prepping me but the stink of his ill-timed drunkenness is making me furious and right now I can't have that. I need to focus. To bring myself down to a pinpoint and collect all my strength, physical and mental, for the upcoming match. "Count them out." I tell him as he slips the mitts on and holds them up.

  
  
Caleb's voice is timid as he shouts out orders, a mix of punches, elbows, knees, and foot thrusts that threaten to knock him backwards on occasion. My body moving and curving and adopting to each of his commands as I beat the mitts as if they are a real life opponent, the thumping starting in my ears again and spiraling through me.

  
  
"Pull it back Dray." Donnie loudly intervenes and I blink, suddenly realizing the strained look on Caleb's face and the way he's started faulting back on each of my attacks. 

  
  
"Sorry." I mutter, pushing the hair off my forehead and giving him an apologetic look. "Got a bit carried away."

  
  
"It's alright." He answers, slightly out of breath as he pulls the mitts off and smiles at me. "There's no way your gunna lose."

  
  
I shake my fists out a few times before turning to face my trainer for the past five years. "Any last minute sage advice?" I ask him, trying to keep any contempt or sneer from my tone. Despite his uncharacteristic behavior at the moment he has been a saving grace in my life. I wouldn't be where I am now without him and that's what I choose to focus on as he stands up on unsteady feet.

  
  
Donnie fixes me with a steady gaze as he pulls from his pocket the carefully braided black and white Mongkon, the combination of rope, fabric, and silk making a strikingly crafted ceremonial headband. I bow my head as he stops in front of me, his minute shaking fingers slipping it on until it rests against the middle of my forehead. "Get in fast and close." He says, his fingers dropping to press over my heart for a second. "Don't let him get any wide swings, use your knees and elbows and you'll come out tall."

  
  
I nod, feeling the fire spark in my blood and spread out through me at the sharp knock and bark of "times up," through the old wood. Donnie says something else as the three of us move out the door, but I don't hear it. Because everything is circling through me, plunging down and wrapping up all light and dark, all thought and feeling. The rhythm in my pulse picks up as we step out into the roar of the crowd, the dark and seedy club nearly splitting at the seams with the amount of people who came to hopefully see blood spilled brutally across the dirt encrusted floor.

  
  
I suck in a deep breath and let my eyes slip shut as we reach the edge of the ring. Everything spikes together and then releases in a steady hum in my ears and suddenly the crowd is gone. I open my eyes to catch sight of Shen across the ring, his long burly legs stretching through the ropes until he's standing in his corner. He really is an impressive specimen and it's no wonder that the betting pool is tipped highly in his favor, for I am not known here yet. Tonight, Madame Safiya says, is the night that's going to change.

  
  
But for now all the crowd has to go on is Shen's fame from his broadcasted fights and our appearances. And we are polar opposites in every way, he is dark skinned with shorn black hair and blinking brown eyes, his height a tower when placed next to me and my slim but muscular frame. He wears his own Mongkon of red and blue with matching short shorts that frame his bulging thighs. It's true I've never fought any as big as him but his size isn't what really catches my attention. It's the knotted coils of rope twisted around his hands, the old method of hand wrapping usually against the rules due to the death toll it tends to brings. But since when has anyone cared for rules in the underbelly of society? No one bats an eye as long as the show is good and blood spatters the ground beneath their feet.

  
  
His eyes find mine and I grin. The ropes on his hands don't change a thing because I am fast and will get inside before he has a chance to use them against me.

  
  
Yes, this is where I belong.

  
  
I slip into the ring without a backwards glance and vaguely hear the announcer shouting my name: Mungkorn. It means dragon in Thai and the closest thing I have allowed myself to have of my past life. A life where I wasn't Dray Evans, wasn't a professional Muay Thai fighter. A life that was filled with magic and darkness and...

  
  
I shake my head, the stray thoughts pricking at my brain for all but a moment before their gone. That life doesn't matter. There is no more Draco Malfoy and there never will be again.

  
  
Shen and I go through the opening rituals, circling around the ring three times before kneeling and bowing at the three appropriate points. We stop on opposite sides of the ring and begin performing our Ram Muay, a dance that's supposed to show a fighters control and style. Mine is short and fast and concise. It revels in simple strength and banishes all elaboration. Shen's is the complete opposite and tells me perfectly how he relies on his obvious size advantage more than anything else.

  
  
This is another reason I love this life. The brutality of the fight flows around the beauty of respect and tradition, if you shun one the other withers and dies. They hold each other up, making its own glorious dance. We face each other again when we've finished and place our hands together in a silent stance of prayer, a sign of respect for our opponent before we can touch each other.

  
  
I hear the crowd roar to a shaking high as I remove my headband, now that the rituals are over, and pass it off to Donnie behind me. He slaps my shoulder in what is supposed to be a reassuring gesture and Caleb slips the mouth guard between my teeth with a large grin and wide excited eyes. The bell dings and I meet Shen in the middle, touching our fists together lightly before molding back into our opening stances.

  
  
And then it starts and there's nothing else as we flow towards each other and back, testing the others strength with light jabs and foots thrusts. Then Shen's arm surges wickedly forward and I raise my elbow in defense and pivot forward, swinging my leg out and catching my shin against his side. Everything boils down to single vision and we dance back and forth, attacking and defending, dipping and moving, bouncing on the balls of our feet to stay in constant motion. I can see the sweat form on his brow as I lead him in chase and wait for the opening I need. Then he opens up, his defenses momentarily dazed as I send him reeling back and I take the opportunity to grasp the back of his neck - palms atop each other, forearms pressing into his collarbone.

  
  
My knee thrusts up with all my power as I press down on his neck, forcing him into my surging limb and I hear the painful crack of bone and feel the rush of sticky blood. Shen's body slumps, his weight sagging, his hands clawing at my neck now - desperate for dominance as my knee snaps up again. He roars in a gurgle of blood and I know he's almost done, that victory is in my hand. Just one more knee than push him back, add an elbow and...

  
  
There's a sudden tugging at me, a tingling that's rushing up my spine with such speed and force that it knocks the air from my lungs, my knee jerking and grip faltering. The sensation spreads, crushing my carefully constructed walls and driving straight through me. My heart starts hammering in my chest, the crowd a sudden deafening thunder that splits me open, shadows I hadn't noticed before multiplying before my eyes. Shen breaks free from the clinch as my head snaps up and around, the room expanding and contracting around me as I stumble.

  
  
This isn't right, I shouldn't be feeling this, haven't felt so much as a prickle of magic for years and suddenly it’s so completely overwhelming me that I can't seem to catch my breath. I'm drowning in its intensity and I feel a scream ripping at my throat but before it can come tearing out Shen's elbow slices across my cheek, splitting open my skin and I spin from the force, my body off balance and all my senses that I rely on in a fight so utterly muddled I can't even think straight.

  
  
I stagger and his shin catches my legs, his fist cutting across my face and black spider webs seep across my vision as I feel myself falling. And then in one long unearthly second everything goes dead quiet, even though I can vaguely see the screaming mob all around me, and Shen's deadly fist jams into my head right before I hit the ground.

I blink and feel my body go limp as I pass out, the image of two emerald green eyes that I'd never thought I'd see again burning into me.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
"What should we do with him?"

  
  
"Let just kill him now, fucking prick lost me all my money."

  
  
"Can't gotta make him suffer."

  
  
"Says who?"

  
  
"Who'd you think moron?"

  
  
"Just shut the hell up you two, you know the rules."

  
  
"So we bend them."

  
  
"And end up like him? Like hell."

  
  
"I said shut up! Now rouse him."

  
  
Strangely familiar voices swim in and out of my head and there's an all-enveloping coldness that's wrapping itself around me, squeezing my lungs like death itself. Fingers dig into my limp unresponsive flesh and I feel the distant burn of rough ground against bare skin. And then full consciousness comes snapping back into me as my head and shoulders are plunged deep into a bucket of freezing water, my mouth opening automatically on a scream as my legs kick out behind me.

  
  
Two sets of strong hands hold me under as I struggle against them, growing increasingly desperate for air, my chest on fire from the lack of oxygen. And then just when I start to feel the welcoming pull of darkness creep through me they’re yanking me up and flinging me to the hard ground. I sputter and cough, curling in on myself as what feels like a million little explosions ignites all through me. My mind flicks back over the disjointed evening as I cough relentlessly on my hands and knees and then it’s all clicking back into place in one horribly clear moment.

  
  
I lost.

  
  
Oh god I bloody lost!

  
  
"That was a really stupid thing you did tonight Evans."

  
  
I freeze at the steely voiced words and look up slowly, taking in my three captors. They’re Madame Safiya's men no doubt about it and one's I've met before on more pleasant occasions. I don't recall their names though, just faces I can barely place amongst countless others that bend and scramble to do her every will. The one who spoke is standing closest to me, crouched down near my face with a look of fake pity.

  
  
"What I'd like to know is why you did it. Huh Evans, why'd you fuck everything up?"

  
  
A deep unending pain surges through me as I turn to sit but I don't let myself think on my injuries. I can tend to them later, once I've escaped, because I need to escape, and quick. Madame Safiya is not a forgiving woman and neither are those in her employ. I silently calculate the distance between each of the men, racking my memory for anything that might tip me off on any sort of weakness I could exploit.

  
  
The man before me...Timothy maybe?...backhands me across my split cheek and I have to fight the urge to cringe away and cry out in pain. "Better start talking soon Evans or we'll have to bring out some incentive." The lackeys behind him let out a soft crude laugh as he pulls out a long thin knife, the blade perfect for carving. My mind floods with images of the sharp tip drawing intricate patterns across my flesh, staining my pale body with crimson.

  
  
I hate knives.

  
  
"I don't recall..." I fix him with a haughty stare as I suck in air through my nose. I can do this, just form a plan and stick to it. Take Timothy first, the second two will charge but I'll have him on the ground before they can make it. Just aim for his right shoulder, he's favoring it too much for there to be any real strength behind it.

  
  
He smacks me again with his left hand and yes there's a slight wince, his right arm is definitely his weakness. "Don't get smart with me." He reaches forward and grabs a fist full of my hair, forcing my neck to crane painfully back. "You threw the match you piece of shit. You had him beat and then you just let him win! Are you working under someone else now? They offer you more money?"

  
  
I stare calmly up into his livid eyes, trying to ignore the unnatural curve of my neck. "I didn't throw anything." I reply coolly, the vision of those too green eyes suddenly slamming back into me and causing my heart to race.

No I didn't throw the fight on purpose, I had been paralyzed by a ghost from the past. Leave it to him to fuck up my life even after all this time.

  
  
"The hell you didn't." Timothy spits and I can feel the energy build in him, stretching taut through his body and it's now or never. "Madame Safiya is going to have your head on a platter unless you give us a fucking good reason not to!" He moves to hit me again and I gather all the blood and spit in my mouth and send it flying in his sneering face. 

  
  
He roars and I fling myself backwards, my feet swinging up and out, catching him in the chest and sending him reeling back. I flip up, my fist connecting with his jaw, my knee landing on his chest, crushing him into the ground as I press the heel of my left foot into his injured shoulder. He cries out in pain as I rain my fists down upon his face, his body struggling beneath me for a moment before going still, his bloody head lolling to the side.

  
  
Not a second later there's a rushing in my ears and I fling myself to the side as the other two surge forward to tackle me. I barely slip past their fingers as I roll up into a crouch. These two are similar in size and build with no discernible weakness apart from their rage. Of course never underestimate the ability of such anger to blind you, as it is them now as they grunt and rush back towards me. I spring to my feet and swing my leg up sharply as I rotate my entire body, catching one of them under his arm and against his ribs.

  
  
He stumbles and I take the opportunity to cut his face right above his brow with my elbow, his dripping blood effectively blinding him in one eye. I catch the second lackey rushing at me from the corner of my eye and I reach out and grab him around the neck, using his own momentum to send him ramming into my knee, a sickening crack vibrating in the air. And then I feel myself flying backwards, a thick arm pressing into my throat and threatening my air supply as I slam into a solid chest.

  
  
"You're going to pay for that." The man before me rights himself, holding his bleeding nose in his hand as his partner keeps me locked in his grip. He grins at me with bloodied teeth and sends a fist straight into my gut. He punches me again and I try to keep the blackness from overtaking my vision as I wait for the right moment and then in a flash it comes and I press back into my captor with all my might - using him as leverage to bring both my feet off the ground and pushing them into the startled man in front of me.

  
  
He falls to the ground with a cry, if I'm not mistaken with more than one rib broken, and I'm starting to work myself free when there's the sudden sound of running feet at the opening of the alleyway. The nauseating tingling that overtook me during the match suddenly comes crawling back up my spine but I shove it away with everything I have and focus on getting free while keeping an eye on the man who's starting to rise from the ground.

  
  
It tugs and pulls and calls to me but I ignore it, it cannot have me again, I will not let it!

  
  
And then the dark street is filled with shots of red light, the sounds of cries and bodies falling and in a matter of moments I find myself standing with barely managed pants of breath surrounded by three unconscious men. But I don't dare look up to where I can actually feel him standing, staring silently at me. Because If I do it will become real, there will be no more telling myself that those emerald eyes were a figment of my imagination. 

  
  
"Draco..." His voice is hesitant and breathy and full of things I don't want to think on. He's not supposed to be here, I'm never supposed to see him again.

  
  
But no matter how much I may try to will him away with just the force of my mind and pounding of my heart, I know I can't. That even if it takes hours for me to acknowledge him he'll still be standing there. Stubborn git. I close my eyes and clench my fists, I can do this, just like a fight...it's all about determination and focus.

  
  
I know my eyes are completely guarded, my face an unfeeling mask, when I finally look up. "Potter." I drawl.


	2. Eyes That Know Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing is greatly influenced by music and each chapter tile is actually from songs I listened to while writing this...the problem is it's been so long since I've written this that I can't remember what they all were! BUT I believe this chapter was titled after "Falling Slowly" By Glen Hansard.
> 
> Also all my fic's have one or two songs that I feel encompass the feeling of the story. This one was completely inspired by the song "Clarity" by Zedd...well and numerous kung fu movies that I binged watched :)

The passing of seven years hasn't seemed to touch him at all. He's still short and a tad gangly, his ebony hair still a complete curling disaster. Even the horrid round classes framing his bright green eyes are the same. And he's staring at me with such a familiar mix of emotions that play themselves so clearly across his face that I can almost forget for a moment all the time that's gone by since I last saw him.

  
  
It could still be that cold winter day, when blood was spilled and lives ended, where it all turned to hell.

  
  
He fidgets nervously, his wand tapping into his leg as he glances over his shoulder, seeking out monsters in the darkness. "We should go." Potter says as his head whips back, his feet moving towards me with quick light steps that he could only ever manage while in the heat of battle.

  
  
"We?" I narrow my eyes as he reaches me, trying my best to ignore the blurry thoughts coursing through my head in a stampede of unnamed emotions. Not to mention the actual pain from my injuries that are starting to come screaming to my attention and looking down I see a steady stream of blood flowing down my side. Timothy must have gotten a cut in before I flattened him. It's strange how adrenaline can make such searing pain unnoticeable.

  
  
His gaze follows mine and I feel myself sway with the sudden force of my battered body, everything smashing into me so quickly and intensely it's all I can do to remain standing. Then his shoulder is pressing up and under my arm, his hand grasping mine and swinging it around his neck.

"Let go." I gasp out even though I think I might actually fall over if he does.

  
  
Because this night is all too much. I lost the most important fight of my career all because Saint Potter decided to pop up in a sketchy dive club in the heart of Thailand and fuck with my head. And for the love of god what the hell is he doing here anyway? When you walk a tight rope to the end of civilized life you shouldn't have to worry about running into your past.

  
  
"This way." He drags me forward, ignoring my command as he maneuvers us through the dark street, his head turning to catch every little noise that rises from the shadows.

  
  
My body leans heavily into his warm solid form despite my desperate desire to get as far away from him as I can. My head is thick and swimming and his smell is circling through me in an upending way, all the while the nausea in the pit of my stomach is threatening to make me vomit as we slip through the back allies with my blood smearing its trail behind me.

  
  
I keep my mouth firmly clenched shut as I focus all my thoughts and energy on placing one foot in front of the other. I have no idea where he's taking me but at the moment anything is better than passing out again in the middle of the alley waiting for Madame Safiya's men to find me. And getting to safety has to be my number one priority, I'll deal with Harry bloody Potter's sudden re-entrance back into my life after that.

  
  
"Through here." His quiet voice breaks through my ragged breathing and I pry my gaze from my feet, glancing quickly around the unfamiliar neighborhood. How far have we gone exactly? I probably should have been paying more attention. Then again it's a bit of a miracle I haven't blacked out yet, the human body can only take so much before snapping.

  
  
I don't have any longer to think on it though because he's helping me hop up the three jagged steps leading into a dingy hotel with a blinking red sign that lights its name across the deserted street. He leads me down a disgusting carpeted hallway before propping his hip against the wall while he simultaneously tries to hold me up and rifle around in his trousers pocket.

  
  
"Just one second..." He mutters under his breath and I reach out and press my palm into the wall before me, using it as leverage to drag my body out of the distorted slump I'd fallen into.

  
  
I breathe heavily through my nose as I press my forehead into the back of my splayed hand. I can't black out now, I need to hold on until I can at least fit a few pieces of the puzzle together. I count my breaths, in one, out one, in two, out two, in three, out three...the numbers building in the forefront of my mind as they push away the deepest spikes of pain and sickness.

  
  
Control, it's all about control and rhythm.

  
  
"Draco." Potter touches my back and I manage to cling to the rhythm of the air flowing through my lungs and out again, effectively keeping myself from flinching away. "Alright there?" He asks.

  
  
I snort because anyone with a set of eyes can see that I am clearly not and yet here he is asking if I'm okay like we're kids again. "Yes Potter just peachy." I sneer, bringing my other hand against the wall to further brace myself as the floor jerks violently beneath my feet.

  
  
I hear him sigh as he fits a key into the lock and with a soft click the door swings open, his shoulder nudging up under my arm again as he pulls me into the room with him. My hand automatically presses back into the long cut across my side in hopes to stem some of the blood flow as I glance around his room. It's small, only one front room with a hard bed, a tiny table with two wooden chairs, and a low wardrobe with a small squat telly resting atop it. There's a door off to the side that I can only assume leads to the bathroom and from the looks of it Potter's been here for a while. There are clothes everywhere as if he never picks up after himself and the little table is scattered with empty takeout containers.

  
  
Apparently he is still as much a slob as ever.

  
  
I bite my tongue against commenting on the unsanitary conditions and allow him to help me sit on the edge of the bed instead. He mutters something under his breath and disappears behind me, leaving me alone for a few brief seconds which are immediately seized up with a whirlwind of questions now that I've sidestepped the immediate danger. But there isn't time to sort through them, to figure out from which angle I want to attack from before he's back, two tumbler glasses in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He places them on the table and soaks the glasses half full, handing one to me before dragging a chair forward and sinking down into it.

  
  
I hold the smooth glass in my hand, staring down into the light amber liquid - Potter's knees just at the edge of my vision, demanding my attention. I take a drink, savoring the steady burn for a moment before looking up and meeting his gaze. "What are you doing here?"

  
  
He's leaning far back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him as he sips on his drink, a curious glint in his eyes. "Well I heard there was supposed to be quite a fight tonight so I thought I'd go." He shrugs, a smile at the corner of his mouth as his eyes stray to my hands and I realize I'm still wearing my cotton wraps. "Never thought I'd see you in the ring."

  
  
But that explanation doesn't completely add up, if only for the fact that it doesn't address the most pressing question. "No Potter, why are you here in Thailand?"

  
  
He cocks his head with a thoughtful expression, one I can't completely read which means he's either actually figured out how not to let his every emotion shine across his face or I'm more close to slipping away than I thought. He places his glass carefully back down and draws his wand from his pocket, every muscle in my body freezing up in an instant.

  


"Let’s get you fixed up before you give me the third degree, your bleeding all over the bed." He rises to his feet and I involuntarily jerk back, his steps faltering. "Don't worry, I've gotten better at healing spells."

  
  
My eyes fix on his wand and maybe I'm being idiotic but I can't stand the thought of his magic pulsing through me. I've lived so long without any sort of magic that I'm not sure I can take it in the state I'm in - for it would surely ruin me, completely rip apart everything I've spent all these years building up. "Don't, no magic." I finally tell him.

  
  
Confusion settles in his eyes as he rakes a hand through his unruly hair. "You need help Draco, would you really rather drive for a few hours to find a hospital?"

  
  
I tip my drink back, taking a long swallow before shaking my head. "I can do it. Do you have some ice and a sewing kit?"

  
  
"A sewing kit?"

  
  
I shift myself on the bed with as little movement as possible, removing my hand for a moment to glance at the gash beneath. Bloody hell I hate getting stitches. "Yes a sewing kit and some matches if you've got them." When he doesn't answer I shift my gaze up to find him staring at me silently with an incredulous look. "What?" I demand, feeling my stomach churn at the thought of what I'm going to have to do and the lightness in my head is starting to get the best of me.

  
  
"Nothing." He looks down at his feet for a moment before giving me an almost sad smile. "You're just so different since I..." He trails off and shrugs again.

  
  
I look down as I feel a muscle twitch in my jaw. "Time will do that Potter."

  
  
He nods and disappears into the bathroom, emerging moments later with two towels under his arm, a wet washcloth in one hand and what looks like a small shaving kit in the other. He dumps them onto the bed and pulling his wand again quickly transfigures the kit into a travel size sewing box - complete with my choice of thread color. I do my best to ignore the tugging sensation that simple spell causes to spark through me and watch him quietly as he moves over to the mini fridge in the corner and begins filling a hand towel with ice cubes.

  
  
He sits down next to me and looks over his gathered supplies before biting his lip and crinkling his nose, his glasses bobbing up on his face. "Right so where do we start?"

  
  
I pick up the sewing kit, flip it open with one hand and balance it on my knee before grasping the needle and a spool of black thread. "Matches?" I ask.

  
  
"Er yeah." He leans back and shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out a dark green lighter.

  
  
I hand him the needle and thread, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "Use the lighter on the needle." I instruct him, catching the flicker of a flame before I lean forward and swipe the whiskey bottle off the table. Pouring the alcohol over my fingers, I watch as it gathers the blood and dirt to flow in a dark red wave onto my knees and bare feet. Taking a deep breath and holding it in, I lean over a bit and splash some on the knife wound, a deep growl of pain forcing itself through my throat at the searing burn it causes.

  


"Shit." I grind out, my eyes squeezed shut.

  
  
"How'd you get that?" Potter asks as soon as my breathing evens back out.

  
  
"Knife." I say simply, taking the sterilized and threaded needle from him as I command my hands to stop shaking.

  
  
His hand suddenly covers mine, stopping its descent towards my side. "Are you sure Draco? I could...it's a simple spell, it would only take a second."

I shake my head and jerk my hand from his, fixing my eyes on the deep cut running across my side and pressing the needle quickly through my damaged skin. I hiss and pull the thread through, the tremor in my hand returning without my consent.

  


"Here, I'll do it. Lay back." Potter says, pushing me gently against the bed and carefully taking the needle from me.

  
  
One of his warm hands stays pressed against my abdomen as he crouches on his knees over me, his eyes narrowed as he works on sewing my flesh back together. I stare at the crease in his forehead and go back to counting my breaths, doing my best to ignore the tugging with every stitch and the way his fingers twitch slightly against me with each of my minute flinches.

  
  
"So Muay Thai huh?" He glances quickly at me as he pauses to push his glasses back up his nose. "How did that happen?"

  
  
"Needed something to do didn't I?" I shift my gaze to the ceiling and trace the peeling stucco patterns. It dips up and down, round in a curving semi-circle, and up and down...

  
  
He chuckles so very lightly I almost miss it. "Yes but Martial Arts? Really Draco you have to admit how crazy that sounds."

  
  
"I don't see the humor in it." I retort even though I actually do, but he doesn't need to know that.

  
  
He tugs hard on the thread and I feel the gash burn and press together. "Sorry." He mutters at my long hiss. "And I seriously doubt that, I mean no one would believe me if I told them you were a fighter."

  
  
"Well the point is moot since you're not going to tell anyone." I say harshly, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he is not to mention seeing me to anyone.

  
  
He doesn't meet my eye as he mutters a quiet, "I won't." He leans over me and plucks the pair of miniature scissors from the sewing box, snipping the thread and securing it closed. I notice his fingers are stained with my blood as he grabs the wet washcloth but he doesn't clean himself. Instead he scoots up the bed and grazes it over my jaw with a look of deep concentration - his lip caught between his teeth.

  
  
I recoil from the touch of the soft fabric and see to my surprise the cloth tinged red when he pulls back slightly. "I can do it myself." Pushing his hand away I struggle until I'm sitting up once more, unable to take lying vulnerable on my back anymore. Snatching the towel from him I press the cool end against my lip where I can feel that the skin is cracked open. "Now that I'm not bleeding all over your precious bed anymore you can start explaining what you’re doing here."

  
  
He gives me a look and grabs the make shift ice pack, touching it lightly to my split cheek. "Stay still." He orders as I try to move away again, his free hand curling around the back of my head to keep me where I am.

  
  
"I said I can do it." I snap, annoyed that all my injuries have finally sapped the last of my strength, leaving me trapped in his touch.

  
  
"Yes I know you can." He says evenly. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't accept help though." He smiles softly, his gaze moving up to fix into mine and I feel my breath get lost in my throat.

  
  
He's too close and the swirling shadows in his eyes keep sucking me in and severing my ability to keep count of anything, no matter how much I try and it's starting to make my head split in an entirely horrific way. A convulsing panic storms through me and I feel myself being sucked down, spiraling towards where I cannot go.

  
  
"...Draco?" His voice sweeps through my ears but it's not enough, there's no repeat in it and I sway slightly, my hand reaching up and pressing against his chest to steady myself. My fingers find his heartbeat, fast and sure, and I focus all of myself on it. The thump, thump, thump eases through my palm and into me, slowly leeching out the rising insanity. His mouth is moving but his words don't penetrate through the fog in my brain and all I can do is shake my head and press my hand more firmly into his chest. The beat increases in its count as I stare into his darkening eyes and I match each breath to every thump, sinking into Potter's own internal rhythm.

  
  
After several aching minutes my head drops forward, his hand sliding down to grasp my neck as the world around me begins to reform out of delusion and back into reality. I stay perfectly still as I wait for his beat to completely set itself in me before carefully dropping my hand uselessly to the bed between us. I draw in a shaky breath and try not to think about how close I had just come to losing it. I haven't had an episode this bad for a few years now and its left me feeling stretched beyond possibility and exhausted.

  
  
"Are you okay? Maybe you should go to the hospital..." He says softly.

  
  
I shake my head, more than happy that I can play my slip of sanity on my injuries for the time being. "No it's fine, just need to sleep."

  
  
He doesn't look like he believes me but thankfully doesn't press the matter. He simply nods and quietly removes everything off the bed as I stand stiffly, intent on scrubbing the blood and sweat from my body before trying to fall asleep. But before I'm even a step away he's muttering a quick cleaning spell at the bed and my hand shoots out, latching onto his forearm as his magic washes sickeningly over me again.

  
  
I have got to get away from him.

  
  
When I finally manage to open my eyes it's to find him staring at me with wide worried eyes, his mouth slightly open on a silent question. I don't give him a chance to voice it though and with a forced little smile I pry my fingers off his arm and move as quick as I can into the bathroom. Sinking down onto the cold tile floor I have a completely foreign urge to cry that is no doubt stemming from the insanity that has been today. Instead of letting the torrents fall I drop my fingers and trace over the little grooves in the floor as my head leans back against the wall.

  
  
This morning everything was as good as it ever could be, I had something I loved, I had everything I needed. I was safe. And then Harry Potter had to show up after seven bloody years and send me careening into disaster. And now I have no idea what to do, where do I go from here? I slip down the wall as my broken body and mind slowly give into my pure exhaustion and it's only a matter of minutes before I'm passing into unconsciousness - Potter's heartbeat still pulsing through my fingers.    
  
 

****  
  
  
  
  
  
I awake to my body heavy and stiff and throbbing in an all-encompassing pain. With an inaudible groan I press my face into the pillow beneath me, trying to shut out the stream of sunlight I can see filtering in through behind my eyelids. The blanket resting over me feels thick and irritating against my sore muscles and I shift restlessly before everything comes flooding back and I freeze.

  
  
Oh fuck.

  
  
Cracking one eye open reluctantly, hoping against hope that it had all been a truly horrible nightmare, the room comes slowly into focus and there's no such luck. Because I'm not at home, in my own little flat, in my own bed. Oh no, I'm in Potter's crappy hotel room, in his bed, with said man sitting next to me in the rickety chair with his feet stretched out and resting on the table - a thick leather bound book propped up on his legs, head bent, pen poised in the air before dipping to scratch across the open page.

  
  
His hair is wet and sitting atop his head in an almost bizarre slicked back manner as if he hasn't been able to stop running his hand through it. He's wearing a simple charcoal gray button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, the dark jeans slightly too long and hanging bunched up about his bare feet. He lodges the end of the pen between his teeth and pushes his hand through his hair as he flips back a couple of pages, a small smile tugging up around the slim intrusion as his fingers pause to run over something on the page he's stopped on.

  
  
I swallow around my throbbing throat, trying to figure out a way to extract myself from the situation as simply and quickly as possible when I remember that this is not where I fell asleep. I shoot upright and immediately regret it with a loud curse, one hand going to grip my pounding head and the other to clasp over the painful stitches in my side.

  
  
"You probably shouldn't do that." Potter states so very helpfully and I glare at him through my messy hair as I pull in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the purely amused look he's giving me.

  
  
"What am I doing here?" I demand.

  
  
He cocks his head and squints his eyes, his hands snapping shut the bulging book with a muted thud. "You don't remember?"

  
  
Oh I bloody remember. "No, what am I doing here?" I poke the bed violently to emphasis my point but his confusion seems to just grow as he stares at me which only serves to infuriate me more. Is it really so mental that I should expect to wake up where I fell asleep? Maybe I'm overreacting but the little slip in my memory is something that terrifies me. I need predictable, I need what I remember to be all there is, I can't cope with anything else.

  
  
"You passed out in the bathroom." He says slowly, looking behind himself as if there's some ax murderer standing there making me spout nonsense.

  
  
Oh if only he knew.

  
  
"Yes I know, so why am here?"

  
  
"I...I moved you." He flushes lightly and his hand is back in his hair. "Thought you'd be more comfortable."

  


My eyes catch sight of my black warps folded neatly on the table beside the half empty whiskey bottle and I glance quickly down at my naked hands. I don't remember taking them off. My heart rate picks up and my fingers start frantically tapping out a repeating pattern on my thigh.

  


He's going to kill me. He's going to bloody kill me with all this 'helping'.

"Do you have a concussion?" He asks suddenly, his feet dropping to the floor as he leans towards me.

  
  
"No." My heart slows and I carefully curl my fingers into my palm.

  
  
"You're just acting...odd..."

  
  
"Odd? I can't imagine why Potter." I say sarcastically. "It isn't as if you’ve just popped up in the middle of nowhere to ruin everything singlehandedly."

  
  
"Me? What did I do?" He sputters and he looks so thoroughly confused that I almost feel bad about lashing out at him. Almost.

  
  
I sigh and push my hair off my forehead. "Look Potter I appreciate you helping last night but I'm just having a hard time comprehending all this." Which is a gigantic understatement but I can't very well get into everything with him now. Or ever.

  
  
"Yeah I get that." He looks down at his book and wraps his fingers tightly around it in a gesture that seems as if he's trying to draw strength from it. "I've been...traveling." He stops again and chews on his lip for a moment, his thumb running absentmindedly over the worn cover. "It's been...awhile."

  
  
"How long?" I ask and his fingers start to tremble subtly but there's no pattern, no rhythm to it. It’s just a reaction overtaking him and for some reason it strikes me as utterly odd. Then to my complete shock he pulls out a packet of cigarettes, jiggles one free and places it between his lips. The sharp thrust of the lighter flicking to life sparks in the quiet room and he brings the flame to the white stick with a shaking hand.

  
  
He inhales deeply, the tip catching and smoldering red. "Few years now." He says on an exhale, a gray stream of smoke accompanying his words.

  
  
"You smoke?" I try to leave the disgust out of my voice but it's there anyway. He shrugs and takes another long pull from it. I shake my head and try to banish all thoughts about how ridiculous it seems for Perfect Potter to be a nicotine addict. I definitely can't be one to judge, not with all my obsessive counting and pattern seeking - smoking being a much more widely run vice. "Why have you been traveling for so long?" I ask after clearing my throat, my eyes glued to the cloud drifting through his slightly parted lips.

  
  
He scratches his head and I realize that his tremor has stopped. Was it just a slight withdrawal reaction? "Needed to get away." He doesn't meet my eye and it feels like that's not all, like there's another piece to the puzzle that he's holding back from me.

  
  
But I don't press it, who I am to demand he spill his secrets? Besides as soon as I figure out how the hell I'm going to get out of this mess with Madame Safiya alive I'll be back to Dray Evans and Harry Potter will sink once more into the deepest corner of my mind. Locked away where I don't have think about him or see him or feel him and his magic.

  
  
"Golden Trio all broken up then?" I bite out and I know I'm starting to take out all of my trauma from the last day on him but I can't seem to help it. He just looks much too relaxed, too at home in this little infested hole, everything about the way he's lounging in front of me is just...off...

  
  
I mean he's bloody smoking!

  
  
He laughs a little and the sound shoots straight through me in an odd sort of way that makes me a tad uncomfortable. "Still calling us that huh? Bit inaccurate though don't you think?"

  
  
"No I don't think so. I think it's a perfect description."

  
  
He tilts his head and plucks the cigarette from his mouth, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning into them. "Really? Even after all that time...suppose you were always stubborn when it came to them though."

  
  
"I am not stubborn Potter." I shoot back, swinging myself off the bed with as much grace as I can manage. It's painful settling my weight on my feet but he's starting to go where I simply cannot tread so this is my signal to leave. I push back the memories that try to ram out of their carefully locked box as I hobble past him and towards the bathroom. "I am simply logical."

  
  
"Sure Draco." Potter laughs again and I slam the door shut between us to drown out the infuriating noise.

  
  
I had forgotten how easily he could get under my skin and I lean heavily back against the door, sucking my breaths in and out slowly and evenly. When the buzzing in my nerves finally dissipates I move to the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.

  


Holy hell, I look like I've been run over by a truck.

My left eye is colored black and blue, my cheek split open and swollen, and the corner of my bottom lip is busted. I suppose I'm lucky to be alive though, considering the damage Shen's bare punch could do at full swing and add the knotted rope wraps to that and well...yes definitely lucking to be breathing.

  
  
My gaze travels down my body to take in the light bruising around my abdomen and the angry red gash slashed through with black thread. Thankfully it doesn't look infected but it's going to be a pain to heal and I'm going to have to be very careful with it. Stripping the dirty shorts off my body, I turn the shower on and step under the scorching flow, gasping aloud as it pelts into me. Steam rises quickly throughout the room and I breathe my first easy breath since this all started, wrapping the security of the hot fog and steady flow of water around me.

  
  
Its beautiful white noise, dripping with perfect silence.

  
  
Tipping my face up into the spray I brace my hands against the wall as I set about trying to form a plan and my next few immediate steps. The real dilemma is whether I should go face Madame Safiya and her vengeful wrath and try to work something to my advantage or do I run, never to look back.

  


My stomach sinks at the thought of starting all over...again. I can't imagine giving up the fight, can't imagine slipping from country to country again, seeking something to capture my senses. Even the thought of never seeing Donnie and Caleb again is making me feel rather distressed, which I wasn't expecting. Maybe I had let them in more than I thought. 

  
  
My forehead smacks into the shower wall with a groan of frustration. And just what the hell I am going to do about Potter? There's still a part of me that wants to know what he's doing here, why he was at the club last night - I want more of an explanation than 'traveling'. And then there's the part that just wants him to leave and fast, and I know I need to heed at least some of that desire because I've haven't felt this vulnerable and near breaking this much - this intensely - in a very long time. But of course that's not all, no nothing is ever simple when it comes to the boy wonder, because warring for its own voice to be heard is a third part of me that's trying to pull me towards him. Trying to get me to unleash my carefully guarded locked box and step back into the mayhem.

  
  
Then there's the question of just what Potter is expecting. Will he be perfectly happy to just let me walk out the door never to see him again? Or will he demand something more? Will his need to always be the savior overtake him and make him stick to my side until he knows I'm 'safe'?

  


All these thoughts swim around my head in an endless circle and I'm no closer to a solid decision when the water starts to turn cold and I reluctantly turn it off. Stepping out of the stall I grab the soft towel and as gently as possible dry off, realizing that I really need a bandage to cover the stitches, actually should have put one on last night.

  
  
Flipping the towel back onto the bar, my eyes catch sight of the little neatly folded pile of clothes resting on the floor just inside the door. I glare at the offending stack, knowing Potter had to have placed them there while I was showering but I didn't see him, didn't even hear him open the door a crack to push them through. I tell myself that it's fine, that it's a nice gesture since all I'd had to put back on would be my shorts again, but it doesn't work. Instead my vision surges out and I squeeze my eyes shut, reaching my hand out reflexively, letting it run into the first thing it comes in contact with. Which happens to be the counter, with a sharp edge of long ago faded tiling and I run my fingers over it quickly - up one two three four, down one two three four...

  
  
Everything rights itself in a few moments and I set my jaw as I reach down and grasp the waiting clothing. I pull on the black jeans that are too big around the waist but somehow just the right length - does he seriously still not buy his right size?  Then with slow and careful movements I manage to get the simple white tee-shirt on. Glancing once more into the mirror I start fiddling with my hair, combing my fingers through it and trying to make it lie just right before I suddenly realize what I'm doing and who I'm doing it for.

  
  
"Bloody hell." I mutter under my breath, forcing my hand away from my silver locks and going to find Potter. Which of course isn't hard, seeing as he's still sitting in the same chair, with the same book in his lap, just outside the bathroom door.

  
  
He looks up as I enter and his eyes shift down my body for a flash before he's grinning at me and rising from his seat. "Sit down." He points at the other chair as he starts emptying the contents of a bag that I'm sure wasn't there before. "You look better."

  
  
I sit rigidly, starting a bit at his cheery tone and strange words. Better? Seriously is he blind? I look like someone tried to make scrambled eggs out of my face. I glance quickly at the whiskey bottle but no, he hasn't been getting drunk while I was occupied.

  


"You must have a different definition of that word than." I drawl and am forever grateful that it comes out in just the tone I was shooting for. No more nervous or breathy or angry or shaking with insanity, yes it's good to be able to speak to him like myself. His arm pauses halfway out of the bag, a smile twitching on his lips and I look away.

  
  
On second thought best continue to stay away from familiarity.

  
  
"I mean you still look like hell but better." I raise both my eyebrows at him in an incredulous look as he drags the chair towards me and plops down into it, sitting so close his knees are nearly pressed into mine. He shifts the things he's holding to lay across his lap and I look down to see that it's a small pile of gauze and medical tape. "Oh you know what I mean." He mutters.

  
  
"Do I now?" 

  
  
"Just shut up and lift your shirt." He stacks several long rectangles of gauze atop each other before picking it up as one. I open my mouth and he rolls his eyes. "And yes I know you can do it perfectly fine by yourself but seriously Draco just keep that mouth of yours shut and do it before you get my shirt all bloody."

  
  
"Granger finally rub off on you?" I ask but grudgingly do as he says, holding the material away from the wound that has started seeping a little.

  


His hands feel cold against my still scorched skin and I hold my breath as he presses the bandage tightly to me. He snorts at my comment as he holds it there with one hand and grabs the roll of tape with the other, fumbling for a bit before he manages to tear off a long piece.

  
  
"Are you incapable of using first names?" He asks, carefully taping the bandage securely to my skin.

  
  
I drop my shirt with a shrug as he shoves the leftovers back into the bag. "Potter -"

  
  
"Harry," He interjects.

  
  
"Potter why-" He shakes his head with a wide smile as I narrow my eyes. "Seriously Po-" This time he goes so far as to actually slap his hand over my mouth, cutting off anything else I might have said. I huff indignantly at the violation and glare vehemently at him, doing my best not to show how much his touch is lurching though me.

I don't do touch! Why can't people get that? Yet strangely enough the pit doesn't open beneath my feet, the world stays perfectly still, my mind clear and unhindered.

  
  
That in itself is utterly disconcerting.

  
  
"Harry." He corrects again and it's my turn to shake my head, given the fact I can't actually say anything - the git. "You used to call me Harry." His voice drops and his eyes flicker with something bright and blinding and here it comes, the slipping, the tilting, the internal destruction that he keeps bloody triggering in me without even knowing it.

  
  
I feel my breath pick up in heavy drags through my nose and I grasp his wrist, prying his hand off my face and pushing him back from me. My foot taps furiously against the floor as Potter stares at me with wide, startled eyes. "That was a long time ago." I tell him, running my hand over my face, seeking the pain that it sends jolting through me as my fingers scrape some of the cuts back open.

  
  
"What's wrong?" He asks, wrenching my hand away.

  
  
"Nothing I just don't like being forcibly silenced." He's holding my wrist in his grasp, his gaze flickering from my eyes to the little smears of blood on my fingers and back.

  
  
"Not that Draco. What's going on with you?" He seeks the answer behind my eyes and I can feel him searching me as if he can read me like an open book. The only thing keeping me from getting up and fleeing is the fact that I know he can't. He can only see what I let him.

  
  
"I don't know what you’re talking about." I say evenly, my tone almost bored sounding.

  
  
"Then stop tapping your foot."

  
  
I look down, my attention drawn to my still rapidly tapping toes in perfect rhythm. I hadn't really realized I was doing it still. I silently command them to stop but it doesn't work and maybe it's because I know that if I do I'll slip away. Bloody hell.

  


"I don't see what that has to do with anything." I clear my throat trying to look nonchalant and unbothered by his accusations.

  
  
"You keep doing it." He says quietly, his fingers starting to dig relentlessly into my tender joint. "Either with your fingers or your feet or even your breathing. Why?" So maybe he has more perspective than I thought.

  


I don't say anything, my mind turning with plausible sounding explanations, none of them making it out past my lips. The sound of my tapping rings horribly loud in the silence taut between us and then without warning he's pressing his foot over mine, forcing it still, and I jerk with a cry that leaves me so fast I can't hold it back.

  
  
"Stop." I gasp as I cling desperately to my last thread of strength, blinking quickly to try and keep the rising storm at bay. Just what the hell does he think he's doing anyway? My hand reaches out and grasps his shoulder as I slump forward. He's releasing all the gates and it's going to drown me.

  
  
Should have known he'd be the death of me.

  
  
"Oh shit, Draco!" His voice is disjointed and fuzzy and then...nothing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty so just a quick heads up, the next few chapters are rather emotionally intense but I just want to assure you that the entire thing won't be so high strung! 
> 
> Also the first flashback to their Seventh Year will be in the next chapter ;)


	3. My Blood Runs Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title was taken from "Below My Feet" by Mumford and Sons

_Italics = flashback to seventh year_

 

_"We can't trust him Harry." Hermione Granger glances at me from over her shoulder, her hands wringing. "Surely you can see that." She hisses and the weasel’s beady little eyes join her quick looks in my direction._

_"She's right mate." The red head so very helpfully pipes in and I have to fight back a snort. Twits, their talking as if I'm not standing RIGHT here._

_"Well we can't just leave him." That's Potter and my ears pick up. They can't? Who knew, I thought it would be rather easy for them actually to just leave me to die out here. But the mudblood is going off again in that analytical schooling tone that drips with superiority and Potter's arguing back and why is he even bothering?_

_Oh right, he's the epitome of Gryffindor stupidity...righteousness...I mean Gryffindor righteousness._

_"...He's just going to wait for the perfect opportunity to turn you over to his Master!"_

_I am? Huh, didn't realize that was my plan. Or that I had a Master. Thanks Weasley, good to know. I lean back against the towering tree and fold my arms, biting my tongue against joining in on their little debate. About me. But that's alright I'm good, I don't need to have a say, just go ahead and decide my future for me. It's not like I'm not bloody used to it._

_"...I'm going to go talk him." He is? What a novel idea, talking to the person you can't decide about._

_Two sets of wild eyes slice into me and maybe it's not such a good idea after all, the weasel will probably just punch me the moment I open my mouth and then his crazy girlfriend can hex me into oblivion._

_"You guys wait inside, it'll just be a minute." Oh look Potter does apparently have some sense. Of course the other two don't seem to see that and off they go again. Maybe they want an excuse to attack me, in fact Weasley looks like he might just explode if he doesn't try to land a punch sometime soon._

_Did you know that if they go into the tent, mere feet away, that I'm going to kill Saint Potter without a second thought? No? Me either. After that farfetched statement I quickly lose track of the argument and sink further back into the tree, studying my dirty finger nails._

_God what I wouldn't give for a bath._

_"Fine!" Granger breathes deeply and closes her eyes like she's being so magnanimous letting him walk maybe fifteen steps to chat with me. "We'll be just inside, shout if you need ANYTHING."_

_It's a good thing she told him that or Potter might have just let me slowly pinch him to death._

_I pull myself up to full height as Potter's two little lemmings disappear inside the tiny tent and I fix my eyes on the black haired boy striding towards me._

_With a frown. And a glare._

_Seriously why the glare? I know we've always hated each other but shouldn't I get a little leeway considering the situation? We're in the middle of...actually I'm not quite sure where...with SNOW falling all around, not to mention the little fact that there's a bloody war waging around us._

_Or maybe brewing is a better word. Yes, brewing, there's a war brewing all around us._

_"Malfoy." Potter states, stopping before me and....that's it. He doesn't continue. Just Malfoy, like I forgot my own name or something._

_So I remind him of his as well. "Potter."_

_And for the love of god his frown deepens. Is hearing his own unfortunate name that hard on him?_

_"What were you doing at the river?" He asks, and I think he's trying to look menacing. But he can't exactly pull it off, not with his goofy mop of hair in desperate need of a cut and the way his horrific round glasses keep slipping down his nose like they’re trying to run off. And is he skinnier? I didn't think that was possible..._

_"Running away." I tell him honestly, because as much fun as it would be to mess with his head a bit I have a feeling that if I want any help from him than honesty is going to be my best choice. I don't much like the way it rolls off my tongue though, there's just something about a perfectly executed bend of the truth that is just so utterly poetic._

_The plain truth on the other hand is completely…mundane._

_"Running away from what?" He doesn't sound like he believes me._

_"I think you mean from whom." I correct him and he rolls his eyes, clearly growing annoyed with me. Well that's fine I'm a tad annoyed myself. Its bloody freezing out here, I haven't eaten in...oh god I can't even remember, and that horrific scene at the Manor the night I fled has permanently seared itself on my brain - making it near impossible to sleep._

_"Just answer it prat."_

_"Who you do think imbecile?" Oops that wasn't supposed to come out like that. Probably shouldn't be pissing him off. He turns to stalk away and I reach out and grab his arm, suddenly very fearful of what might happen if he leaves. "Look I...need your help." Huh that felt weird, Malfoy's are NOT supposed to ask for help._

_Potter smirks, actually smirks! I bristle, that's my smirk, the bastard._

_"That looked like it hurt." He snickers and where did the righteous Gryffindor go?_

_I drop his arm and glare. "Are you going to help me or not?" I demand, suddenly feeling a bit light headed from the lack of food, sleep, and days upon days of stumbling through the dark - not to mention that horrific Apparition they pulled me into when they came across me at the river. Bringing us here...damn it where are we? I hate, HATE not knowing!_

_Potter stares silently at me and I squirm inwardly under his sharp gaze. Not visibly of course, no I'm much too proper and prideful to show him my apprehension._

_"Okay..." He says slowly and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "But I'm taking your wand and you're going to tell me all about how you ran away." He pauses and eyes me up and down and I do NOT want to know what I look like right now. It cannot be good. "But maybe you should get some sleep first."_

_I nod, utter relief washing over me at the realization that I won't be running blindly all alone anymore. Even if that means I have to stay in the Golden Trio's company for the foreseeable future. Better than being with the crazy Dark Lord and his mental followers._

_Potter holds out his hand and I stare at his red palm and long snow licked fingers. The same digits that always managed to wrap around the Snitch a second before my own. Choking back the rising terror, I carefully slip my wand into his grasp, those nimble fingers closing around it with such ease as if I didn't just hand over a VERY important part of myself to him._

_A Wizard’s wand is like his blood, letting someone else control it is nearly panic inducing._

_He pockets it and waves me after him as he starts towards the tent and after a moment’s hesitation I follow. Uncertain of what lies ahead and not completely sure I want to find out._

 

****

 

 

I jerk to suddenly, the memory of my first night with Potter and his friends slipping back to where it broke free from. But even as I stuff it away I know with a sinking dread that its done its damage already. My eyes refuse to open as I feel myself float back together, feel the lines of the chair under me, the curve of the floor beneath my feet, my hands twisted in soft fabric, and Potter's arms around my back - my cheek against his shoulder where I suppose I fell into when I...passed out?

 

Again. Good lord I'm getting tired of this.

 

I can feel the coiled tension stringing his muscles together, his hands grasping my back much too tightly. "You can let go." My voice is quiet and he doesn't respond for a beat, his throat working around what must be a series of unending questions.

 

"Tell me what’s going on." He says firmly as I push out of his arms and stare at our hands resting on our respecting knees. He still has the faint scar 'I must not tell lies' and my eyes trace over the ingrained letters in his own script.

 

"Doesn't matter." I don't look up, don't want to see his emotions splayed across his telling features.

 

"Doesn't matter? You’re serious? Draco you just went into a total panic and blacked out!" His hand jerks up and through his hair, the one on his knee taking up a fine tremor. Swearing under his breath he grabs his cigarettes and shoves one between his lips, his fingers slipping on the catch several times before the flame bursts to life and he inhales deeply. "I mean does this happen a lot?"

 

"No it actually doesn't matter at all Potter." I tell him sharply, standing up swiftly and allowing my feet to settle into a steady pace up and down his room. "All that matters at the moment is what the hell I'm going to do about losing my match last night." Hopefully this will draw him at least momentarily away from where he wants me to go and really when it comes down to it, it is the truth. I can't just stay locked up in this room with him forever. I have to eventually stop this strange back and forth and confront the situation head on.

 

Not to mention I've learned to live with my...problem for years, actually had it perfectly under control until he came waltzing back in.

 

"That's mental Draco, you can't just ignore whatever is going on." He stands up so fast his chair upturns, his gaze pleading and a tad unhinged. It’s astonishing how quickly he can get worked up. "You looked like bloody death, I couldn't even wake you! And last night...last night after the stitches you, you almost did it then too didn't you? You just-"

 

"Potter!" I snap, cutting him off. I do not have time for his Saintly streak to make an appearance. "I don't need you to save me!"

 

He flinches as his eyes flash. "Draco..."

 

"No Potter listen to me." He looks like I've punched him in the gut and for some reason I have an urge to take it back, to sooth it over somehow. But I push it down because it shouldn't matter if Potter looks hurt, it can't matter. "That fight last night was important. The victory needed to be mine."

 

"Then why did you let him win?" He asks puzzled, the hurt still shadowing his eyes in a way that's making it hard for me to look at him.

 

I sigh heavily and sink down onto the bed, dropping my head into my hands. "I didn't...not intentionally anyway."

 

"But why...?

 

"It's complicated." I mumble into my hands because I can't very well tell him it's his fault can I? "But the fact is I lost and now a very influential woman is out for my blood."

 

"The people in the alley? They worked for her?" He stands across from me, leaning back against the wardrobe.

 

I nod. "Yes and now I need to decide what I'm going to do."

 

"Is there a choice?" He asks. "If she's really out for blood than shouldn't you leave as fast of possible?"

 

"Probably." I push my hand through my hair and look back up at him. "But there are things to consider."

 

"Like what?" The cigarette goes back into his mouth and I debate how much to tell him as the smoke obscures his features.

 

"Can't you put that out?" I scowl and he shakes his head. "Fine, die of lung cancer." I grumble.

 

"You’re dodging the question."

 

"I'm not sure I want to start over somewhere else." The words come tumbling out on their own but I figure a little bit of honesty can't hurt can it? Who knows maybe talking it out a bit will even help. God knows I haven't been able to decide on a decision on my own. "And I don't think I could give up fighting." The little fact that I won't be able to do my regular conditioning while the stitches heal is near making me sick as it is. What would I do if I couldn't ever be in the ring again? What could I possibly replace it with that would capture me so fully?

 

"Is it really important enough to risk your life for?" He asks quietly and my eyes drift to the lightening scar that's barely visible through his fringe.

 

How many times did that question get thrown around during the war, hell during his entire life? It was a constant up and down, an endless pulling that demanded he give and then begged him to hide away safe in the next breath. The whole of the Wizarding world standing or falling on his back, there never really was a choice for him. Give himself over to it or we all would have died. I know my own situation is minuscule, less than even a pinprick amongst a thousand galaxies in comparison, but right now, in this moment it feels just as crushing.

 

To give up would surely be to die.

 

My heart squeezes and I watch his graceful fingers stub the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray next to him. "It is my life."

 

"Doesn't have to be." He pushes off the edge of the wardrobe and crosses the small distance to sit next to me. Hesitating for a moment while his hand tightens around the edge of the mattress, his left foot swinging up and down. "You could come with me."

 

"I'm not going back Potter." Even the thought of stepping foot in London sends a spiking dread through me and his green eyes snap to my fingers suddenly running in circles over the blanket. Thankfully he's not bullheaded enough to mention it or try and stop me again.

 

"That's not what I'm suggesting." I contemplate him as he stares at my fingers, the lingering stench of smoke that should be clinging to him is strangely absent and in its place is a warm scent of sweet coconut - just like always. It washes over me with the force of a tidal wave and I know it's a very, very bad idea to take him up on his offer. "I was thinking maybe America, haven't been there yet." He continues, completely unaware of my inner turmoil.

 

I bite my lip and force that little nagging part of me that wants to say the hell with it and follow wherever he leads away. "I think I need to stay and play this out. Whatever it may hold."

 

"You're going to go see her aren't you?" He sounds resigned as if my decision to stay affects him in some immediate way.

 

"Yes."

 

He nods. "When?"

 

"Today." With the realization that I can't leave, at least not until I've tried my hand at salvaging the situation, the steps I need to take slowly start to fall into place. I just hope I'm not going to walk into something I won't be able to walk out of. That's the risk though isn't it?

 

"Right." He stretches and propels himself up, bending to grab a pair of socks and trainers from under the bed and tugging them on. "We best get going then yeah?"

 

"You're not coming." I tell him flatly, not really all together surprised that he wants to accompany me. Heaven forbid he let anyone ever go into a potentially dangerous situation without him. He doesn't glance up from tying his laces, doesn't even look like he's heard me, and I frown. A stubborn Potter is not someone easy to contend with. "I'm serious. I'm going alone."

 

Straightening, he smiles crookedly at me. "No you’re not." He glances down at my bare feet and grabs a pair of clean socks out of a drawer, tossing them at me. "You can argue with me if you like but I'm coming with you so it would save time if you didn't. What size shoe do you wear?"

 

He can be so utterly insufferable!

 

This is not his fight, he should not be inserting himself where he doesn't belong. Good god do I need to physically slap him around a bit to get it through his thick head that he is not the savior of everyone? Again! Because I swear to Merlin that we've had something akin to this conversation before.

 

I glower at him as I tug my feet into the socks because I know he's not joking. The prat would just follow me all day if I refuse his help. "Forty-five." I reply through my deepening frown that's pulling painfully at my broken flesh but I don't let up, better to live with the momentary discomfort and pin Potter with my most withering expression.

 

He draws his wand and I have a split second warning before he's transfiguring another pair of socks into a pair of comfy looking gray trainers. "Stop doing that!" I hiss, fighting through the churn in my stomach.

 

His nose crinkles in puzzlement. "Doing what?"

 

"Magic." Standing, I snatch the trainers away from him, shove them on and march towards the door. It's time to leave this crazy little world I've stepped into and reclaim my carefully crafted life. All I need is a tantalizing enough proposition to tempt Madame Safiya.

 

 

****

 

 

My senses are immediately accosted with the thick stench of sweat as the door gives way and the gym, my home, opens up before me. The sounds so unique to the world of training slip over and through me and peace finds its way back into my bones. I can feel dozens of eyes follow me as I wind my way through the occupants and their swinging punching bags, stepping over the few scattered weights until I make it to the back - the door to the little office used by the coaches standing ajar and empty.

 

Damn it where is Donnie?

 

"Wait here." I mutter to Potter who's looking around with a fascinated expression, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. I catch his nod just as I see Caleb across the room, his hands falling to his sides, his face full of anxious relief as our gazes lock. I move towards him as he pushes past the punching bag he was beating his strength into moments ago.

 

"Dray." He pulls me into a surprising but thankfully quick embrace, his eyes searching over my battered face. "God what happened to you last night?"

 

"I was hoping you could help fill me in on that a bit actually." I tell him, returning his smile and motioning him to follow me back to the office, away from prying eyes and ears.

 

He nods his head with fast little bobs and joins me in the little room, shooting an unsure look at Potter when he trudges in behind us and pulls the door shut. "Yeah sure, of course...who's this?" His thumb jabbing the air towards the unfamiliar man.

 

"That's Potter." I wave in his general direction, propping myself on the edge of the sparse desk and just manage to avoid the wince that tries to shake me.

 

"Harry actually." He sticks his hand out to Caleb who eyes it uncertainly before grasping it in a firm shake. "Old friend." He smiles that infuriating smile of his and I hold back a snort. Old friend? Right...

 

Caleb cocks his head and gives me a funny look. "Really? Wasn't aware Dray had any friends..."

 

"Yes well it was a long time ago." I grip the edge of the desk and cross my ankles, ignoring the questions I can see brewing in Caleb's mind. "Do you -"

 

"You were at the fight weren't you?" He asks Potter suddenly, cutting me off, his eyes narrowing as his arms cross over his bare chest. He doesn't wait for an answer though and takes a step towards him, looking like he can't figure out if he should trust the black haired man or not. "Yeah you were the guy who freaked when they started dragging him out the back."

 

Freaked? I shift my gaze to Potter who in return is looking at Caleb with a much more guarded expression than before.

 

Caleb swings back to me, pointing at the man next to him. "After you lost the crowd went insane, the Madame’s men were there in a heartbeat pulling you through the mob and out into the alley. We tried to follow but they barred us and made Donnie go with them, said she needed to talk to him. But he, he kept trying to get through them, shouting his fucking head off and then he was gone...just like that, there one second gone the next."

 

Potters jaw progressively tightens throughout Caleb's rather accusatory sounding explanation but despite the myriad of things that prick at me, demanding more attention, more of an explanation - I cast it all aside, tunneling down into one solitary statement. "They still have Donnie?" I ask stiffly.

 

Caleb falters for a second. "I...I can't be sure but I haven't heard from him since."

 

Which in Donnie's case is not a good thing because he lives here nearly as much as I do and the fact that he hasn't shown yet does not bode well. I suck in a breath, tapping out my fingers under the edge of the desk as I try to dampen the fear that's starting to wrap its tendrils around me.

 

"Dra-"

 

My eyes snap up to Potter, silencing him with a fiery look. If Donnie was still with her when they realized I had escaped and found the scene in the alley than he could be in grave danger. She would no doubt hold onto him as leverage to smoke me out and the longer I wait the worse it might get for him. I just hope she hasn't taken her sadistic anger out on him already.

 

That would also explain why she didn't have anyone waiting here for me. She knows once I realize that she has him that I'll come to her. And she's right. The question is how do I find her, its not as if I've ever just waltzed up to her before, don't even know if I could find my way to her estate on my own. But if she has him then that would mean...

 

Grasping the telephone across the desktop, I pull it towards me, cradling the receiver in the crook of my neck as I dial Donnie's mobile by heart. The ring vibrates down and into my limbs and I push my hand through my hair as I wait through the seemingly endless dull trill. I feel more than see Potter move closer and I glance up and meet his gaze just as the phone clicks though.

 

"I thought I'd be hearing from you today." The voice is low and silky and purely cultured.

 

"Madame Safiya." I say simply in a way of both greeting and in query of how to proceed. If my upbringing and subsequent lifestyle has taught me anything it's that less is always more when dealing with people like this.

 

"Do join me for tea my dear. There is a car waiting outside for you." She replies, pausing for a brief moment. "Oh and be sure to come alone." Then the line goes dead and I replace the telephone carefully, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. That wasn't exactly what I was expecting and perhaps it was the absence of any real emotion or the even sweetness but the short conversation has only served to make my blood run cold.

 

Her claws are sharp and possessive and now I know without a flickering of doubt that she has absolutely no intention of letting me go.

 

And if I've spliced between the lines correctly she already has the way I'll pay her back planned out precisely.

 

"We can still leave." Potter says softly, pulling me out of my daze and when my eyes refocus I'm pulled tight into his emerald gaze. There's a promise there I can't fully comprehend but it doesn't matter. Even if I hadn't already decided to play this out there's no alternative now. Not when there's more than my life on the line. Donnie has been too good to me to leave him out to rot.

 

I don't answer but I can see the moment he realizes that I'm still going through with it, there's a blink of sorrow before it's gone and then he's pulling his damn cigarettes out. "Didn't think so." He mumbles, catching it alight and blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

 

"I need to go." I say while straightening and begin to gather myself together. Mental and physical, I'll need it back as one without any distraction if I'm going to come out of this on top. I exhale a deep breath as it all rushes through me, it used to be so much easier. "Potter -"

 

"I can't come right?" He finishes for me and takes my spot against the desk as I nod. "Your rule?" He asks but I can tell he already knows the answer.

 

"Not this time." I answer and there's a million little things pressing against his frowning lips and I wait for them to come gushing out for he's notoriously bad at holding his tongue. But for once he keeps his jaw shut tight and simply nods.

 

"Be careful and stop by after yeah?" Caleb says, looking clearly worried, but he fixes me with his lopsided smile anyway. "You know just so we know she hasn't hacked you to bits or anything."

 

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming." I laugh, pulling open the office door and making my way to the front. No use prolonging it any longer. I push down on all my thoughts until their carefully tacked in place and am just reaching the outer door when I hear jogging feet behind me then a soft hand tapping against my shoulder.

 

"Draco wait." Potter mutters and when I turn he quickly presses something into my palm, his eyes darting around for a moment.

 

I feel the hint of magic pulsing out from it and into my fingers before glancing down to find a small silver coin resting in seeming innocents in my hand. I have a strong urge to hurl it as far away from myself as possible but manage instead to curl my fingers tightly around it, as if blocking it from sight might dampen the waves it's emitting. Of course it doesn't and a muscle in my jaw twitches, it's taking nearly everything I have to keep it in my grasp and not give into the collapse it's trying to tug me into.

 

"Just in case you need help." He says in way of an explanation.

 

I don't trust my voice so instead I shove it deep in my pocket and fix him with a long look, trying not to think too closely on what sort of charm he put on it that could possibly help me out if circumstances become dire. I can feel it resting heavily against my thigh and all the control I had managed to twine together goes rushing out in one agonizing wave. We stare at each other as I try to piece it all back together but my thoughts are getting all fuzzy and disjointed and with a small shake of my head I turn from him and pull the door open. Stepping out into the thick warm air, I let out a shaky breath as I take five steps then slide into the waiting car without a word.


	4. The Price I Pay

****   


  
  
The drive isn't long and instead of heading out of the sprawling city towards her estate, we head straight into its heart. The sleek black car drastically out of place in the crowded street and we slow to a crawl with the horn blaring more frequently the closer we get. Then we're stopping, my door popping open and I don't have to be told or coerced into leaving its false cool air and stepping onto the sidewalk. Three men immediately flank my sides and back, boxing me in as if they expect me to run, which seems just a smack excessive in my opinion.

I did come here on my own did I not?

  
  
They're ushering me towards an old square building, its dust blown exterior defiantly standing against the test of time and push of the elements. There's a neat sign announcing its name in a language I haven't been able to master but my eyes are drawn to it non the less - taken in by the curving lines and elegant dips and swirling slashes that seem to be dancing and warring together all at once. My hand appears ghastly pale against the black door as I push it open, my ears suddenly deafened by a thick beat bursting through the rooms from unseen speakers. Blinking in the dim light I follow along the narrow hall, my feet faltering for all but a moment as it spits us out into the main room.

  
  
I don't think I've ever been so thankful that it was the middle of the afternoon before, for once the sun starts to dip this room has to be near bursting with people. I can almost feel the press of all the bodies that will cram themselves between these walls in a few hours and just the thought is slightly sickening to me. The ceiling is low, the lights never turned beyond a faint glow, the walls windowless, and the floor is scattered with short tables and cushioned seats that barely reach off the ground. I can nearly smell the sweat and incense from the night before still clinging to the air and I resist a shudder.

  
  
I'll just need to make sure to conclude my business before the hour that strikes the arrival of debauchery settles upon us.

  
  
There's a movement to my left and I look over to see one of the men from the alley last night, his nose a deep blue and purple - smashed and crooked. I smirk as he glares at me, the remembered crack of his cartilage snapping ringing in my mind. "Good afternoon." I say smoothly. "Might you point me in Madame Safiya's direction?"

  
  
His jaw clenches, eyes narrow, and a muscle spasms in his throat but all he does is growl deeply and turn stiffly - waving me to follow him with one erect finger. He leads me past the few early patrons and up a wide winding staircase, motioning for me to wait once we reach the top and he disappears behind a thick red door with deep engravings of water dragons.

  
  
How fitting.

  
  
Leaning back against the railing I suck in a breath and press a hand into my side, trying to dispel the burning discomfort all this movement has brought upon my stitches. I really should have taken some pain relievers. Or at least a drink to blur the sharper edges of the pain. True to form she leaves me waiting for the better part of an hour while I whittle away the time with breathing excises and emptying my quickly cluttering mind before the door is opening again - the broken nose lackey stepping half way out.

  
  
"She'll see you now." He tells me and his voice is scratchy and thick, like he's spent a good deal of time screaming as of late.

  
  
Pushing away the possible implications of that, I right myself and carefully run my hands over my shirt and down my thighs - not that there's really anything to straighten but it's a habit I've never really been able to rid myself of. Stepping past the man and through the door my eyes take a moment to adjust to the properly lit room and fix immediately on the woman sitting delicately on a plush ivory couch. I take in as much of my surroundings as I can in my peripheral vision, noting the three bodyguards standing with taut muscles against two walls, the dark cherry wood table laid out with a complete tea service, and a lean body guard named Samson - standing directly behind Madame Safiya with a look of pure indifference.

  
  
And then there's the Madame herself, perfectly elegant in any setting she deems worthy of her presence. Her long raven hair falls in curling tendrils over her shoulders, the snug black dress capping at her crossed knees, her legs long and pale before stopping at a pair of dark red high heels. Her features speak of fine breeding, her deep blue eyes lightly lined with coal and lips plumped red with rouge, hiding so well her cruel constitution.

  
  
I incline my head in a quick bow and her lips curve up into a smile that would be beautiful if I didn't know better.

  
  
"Mr. Evans do have a seat." She says smoothly, her French accent a light caress. She lifts the teacup she's been cradling and takes a little sip, her eyes flicking briefly up to the man in the corner before settling back on me as I arrange myself on the seat across from her. "Care for some tea?" She asks and I nod, thankful to have something to hold. "Milk and sugar?" I shake my head and she smiles. "I like a man who takes it black."

“Donnie?” I ask, unwilling to go another second without securing his release if he’s still being held.

It’s the rudest I’ve ever been to her but she just blinks her clear eyes and draws in a nonchalant breath. “Not to worry, he’ll be released as soon as we’ve concluded our business.” I know this is the most I will get out of her on his regard so I simply nod my understanding, forcing myself to be content in the small reassurance.

One of the men hands me a delicate teacup and I take a careful sip, delighting in the hot slide down my throat and pooling in my belly. "I assume I'm here to discuss payment." I say abruptly, leaning back against the chair. There's no use beating around the bush, not with a woman like her, a woman who values strength above all else.

  
  
She lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow and tilts her head with a light chuckle. "Right for the punch I see." Her eyes slide over me and I can feel the intensity in her gaze as she takes in every little aspect of my person. She notes the damage to my face, the clothes that don't fit quite right, the shoes that I've never worn and speak against my usual choices, and my hair that’s typically styled in some way or another but is now an air dried mess in my eyes. She calculates it all and files it away, one red polished fingernail scrapping gently down her temple and tucking a curl behind her ear.

  
  
"I don't believe that either of us is suited well for pointless chitchat." I sip at my tea and try not to squirm under the penetrating gaze.

  
  
"Mhmm." She hums and takes a moment to drink from her own cup. "No I don't suppose we are. To the point then Mr. Evans, you lost me a small fortune last night." She states, a heavy silence falling between us as she waits for my response, giving me an ill-advised chance to deny or try to explain my way out of it. But there's no point in doing so, it would only sink me deeper, so I stay still and quiet. "As such I require compensation. Now if we can't decide together on an alternative then I'll be forced to take full payment from your flesh."

  
  
Her words sink like dead weight and my stomach churns as my head throbs. It's medieval to its very core, penniless sods paying off debts with the skin from their backs and it's just the sort of thing she would demand. She probably has even fashioned crude tools to use that hearken back to its origin. But I show her none of my apprehension, instead I school my features into a mask of cool contemplation and hold the teacup lightly in my lap, tracing my finger over the grooves in a swirling pattern. "I assume you already have an alternative in mind?" The tip of my finger digs into the porcelain, seeking control through its texture.

  
  
"Indeed I do darling, two in fact." Safiya lets her eyes rake over me once more but this time in an entirely different sort of way and I feel my heart slow maddeningly at the things her look holds. "You are a rare man Mr. Evans, breathtakingly handsome, beautiful even." She pauses and I bite into the inside of my cheek until blood floods my tongue. "You would make a sinfully perfect acquisition for many. A temptation to both women and men I should think."

  
  
I resist the urge to shiver as an icy chill seeps through my veins, my mind warring with the rest of my body to run far and fast, snapping any necks that try and get in my way. I breathe evenly and keep my gaze locked on hers, the cup in my hands threatening to shatter as all the tension coursing through me attempts to finds a small outlet in my grip. My insides scream at me to latch onto something, to bring order back to my nerves but I dare not move in fear of what I might do. So I settle for counting the seconds between her blinks. It's barely enough but it's all I can get so I give myself over to it as I settle my whirling thoughts.

  
  
I would agree to a beating to an inch of death before ever prostituting my body. Just the suggestion of money exchanging and unknown hands caressing me threatens to make me vomit all over the finely carpeted floor. "And the second?" I ask without a single waver in my commanding tone.

  
  
Her lips turn into a wide smile as she sets her empty teacup onto the low table between us, apparently pleased with my reaction. "I must say I was fair impressed with how you were able to escape my men the other night, three against one as it were and while being injured...however did you manage it?" I stare right back at her and keep my mouth firmly shut, my eyes flickering with just barely managed annoyance, as if the question in itself is ridiculous. "Rare indeed." She says softly a moment later, seemingly to herself. "The second option is simple. I want you to fight in a match at the end of the month and if you do, this time you will win."

  
  
That's it? She just wants me to fight? But that can't be right, it's too lenient, too easy, too...humane. My eyes narrow as I study her, trying to push through her layers and see beneath the falsities and into the truth. "Against who?" I ask carefully.

  
  
She waves a perfectly manicured hand in the air with a shrug of her dainty shoulder. "That's inconsequential because you'll win, right darling?"

  
  
I don't like this and I know that there's a pit somewhere in it that's just out of reason, but I can't puzzle it out, at least not here, not now. But it's really my only option and I run my tongue over my top teeth before nodding slowly. At the very least I'll be back in the ring again, get to feel the rush and wonderful control pumping through me, to have my mind clear and focused once more. "I'll do it." I meet her eyes and she makes a contented little sigh in the back of her throat, sounding as if I've just stepped exactly where she wanted me to.

  
  
"You will won't you." She scrunches up her nose in a way that seems much to 'cute' for a woman like her and then she snaps her fingers and rises gracefully from the couch. "One more thing before you go." She moves over to me and leans down, her lips brushing my ear as her long finger hooks in one of my empty belt loops. I tense at her touch and the nearness of her body, her breath too warm against me. "Fail me again and I'll cut your heart out myself." She grips my jaw roughly and presses her mouth to mine in a quick hard kiss before pulling back and smacking my cheek twice like I'm some sort of pet.

  
  
I struggle to push down my panic and shove away the feeling of being lacerated over every inch of my body, numbers rising and multiplying at a dangerous rate in my mind as my toes press into the floor. She moves back to her sofa but I can still smell her, can still feel her heat and it's debilitating. My hand finds its own way into my pocket, curling around Potter's coin. There's a clash of equally awful sensations and it pulses over and through me, strangely chasing each other out. I let it fall from my grip as temptation to use its power to break free pricks at me but I can't, to do so would end my chances of fixing things. And I still don't know where Donnie is.

  
  
"Mr. Jameson here will take you down." Madame Safiya's voice breaks through me and I blink away the haze, glancing up to see a new man standing beside me, obviously waiting.

  
  
"Down?" I ask, feeling suddenly as if a hammer is about to fall.

  
  
She smiles sweetly. "You didn't think it'd be that easy did you Mr. Evans?" She says and grasps her newly filled cup as Jameson reaches down and hauls me to my feet.

  
  
I jerk my arm back from him and stare down at her. "Where am I going?" I demand.

  
  
"To fight." She dips a finger into her tea and swirls it around as I'm ushered backwards towards the door. "Oh and tonight you're to lose."

  
  
Then I'm pushed through and the door slams shut, cutting off any further explanation. Not that there is much needed, it makes perfect sense. I'd thought it was all too easy didn't I? And I was right, she wants me to suffer, not enough that I'd be useless to her future plans but enough to show me her strength. Enough to try and bully me into being afraid of her and this is the perfect way, commanding me to fight and to fail. Basically to get the shit kicked out of me while people cheer and watch my second downfall.

  
  
It will make her more money in the long run.

  
  
Jameson is at my elbow, leading me back down the stairs and into another little hallway before pushing through an unmarked door and descending down another narrower set of stairs. It grows progressively dimmer, the smell of sweat thicker and laced with sick and blood. This is where unsanctioned fights take place, the basement reeking with the brutality that dwells here. There's a steady swell of noise as we near the bottom and dread seeps through me. Intended to lose or not I'm in no condition to enter the ring. And despite current belief I have never thrown a fight.

  
  
We step into the crowded room and realization hits with just what Madame Safiya has managed to take away from me in forcing me into doing this. It's glaringly obvious as we push through the throng and towards the middle of the room where there's a ring drawn in white chalk, slit down the middle with a thin scuffed line. The mash of men and a few women in low slung dresses are standing right up against the outline, cheering and drinking and laughing as they watch me file between their barely parted mass. Several sets of hands push me into the crude ring and I stumble, knowing perfectly well that I'm going to rip my stitches and reopen several wounds before this is over.

  
  
There's a man standing across from me, bare fists, bare chest, with sandy blonde hair and a wide toothy grin. There's blood on the ground and on his hands and I wonder how many fights he's already won today. The crowd is chanting his name and egging us on and this is what she has stolen.

  
  
She's taken the beauty of the fight. She's stolen the grace, the tradition, the honor, the respect, and the dance. She's completely stripped it down to its filthy core. She has pillaged my heart, making my blood pump weak through me and I give myself a second to grieve. But only a second before setting my face, raising my loose fists, and sucking in a deep breath.

  
  
I'll lose like I'm told but I'm going to bloody well make someone pay for it. My foot lands against the edge of the line separating us and everything prying at me and threatening me melts back like watercolor running from the page.

  
  
I will make my own damn beauty.

  
  
Everything snaps into focus, into place as my opponent meets me at the line and there isn't a bow, a touch of fists, or even a bell before I'm knocking his punch off course with the ridge of my hand and sending my fist into his temple. I can feel the vibrations of the crowds’ insanity run up through my feet as I dodge the next few punches and attempted tackles, quickly realizing that he isn't a Muay Thai fighter. His stance, his stubborn stiffness screams of rigid boxing - of exchanging blow for blow until someone collapses.

  
  
I could win easily even with my injuries and I feel anger burn anew. She has to have known that, just as she must have known of my love for tradition. The boxer roars with blood lust and swings towards me again, my feet sliding in a curve out of his way, my fist landing in his kidney, my elbow surging up and slashing across his brow. It could be an easily calculated victory. I can see the steps play out before my eyes as if they’re really happening and in order to keep myself from it I pull back just enough here and there, let him land a jab - suck in the pain, kick him free of breath, and then let myself fall open for another of his hits to land.

  
  
It's oddly difficult losing.

  
  
But more than that, it's heart breaking.

The fight is my very being and she has purposely chosen a punishment to break me in the cruelest of ways. The crowd swells and spits venom, pressing into the ring and forcing us into a tighter circle, closing in on us as I land another kick against his ribs. He goes for an uppercut and I instinctively fling myself upwards, my knees landing in the middle of his chest as I smash my bent forearm down against the top of his head, effectively knocking him to the ground and slitting the skin. He blinks and gropes on the floor and I could end it right now. Could come out tall, anything else when he's so obviously beaten would be so laughably obvious.

  
  
I falter in indecision and that is all the mob needs, they claw at me, their hands twisting in my shirt and hair, yanking me back to be swallowed up. They kick and punch and spit in such a dizzying frenzy that I can't tell up from down, blackness crawling through my vision, screams ripping through my throat as a fist lands directly against my wounded side. I plummet to the ground only to be dragged back up, my body swinging like a piñata, and then as quickly as it began their tossing me back into the ring, my head cracking painfully against the floor.

  
  
I vaguely notice a pool of red gathering about me but I can't pinpoint where it's coming from, my entire body feeling as if it's been ripped apart. There's a distant roar and a flood of different languages as the boxer yanks me to my feet, leering at me before knocking me into welcome blackness.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
There's a crack and thump, a rush of cool air, a sense of falling, and connecting with coarse pavement, knocking the air from painful lungs.

  
  
An engine purrs and tires squeal as I blink through the fog that has taken up a permanent place in my brain, obscuring my nerves from making proper connections and latching onto any single thought for longer than a second.

And doesn't this seem familiar, coming to on a dirty sidewalk, body broken anew, the lights from the building next to me hovering in a distant haze.

  
  
Prying myself off the ground I rise to unsteady feet, feeling a wave of nausea flip through me as I waver on the spot. At least this time there's no one waiting to try and torture me.

  
  
No, Madame Safiya has had her revenge for the night, a fixed fight with an easy opponent but a mental crowd. My head pounds as I press my hand into my profusely bleeding side where the stitches have ripped along with more of my flesh. I take a single step and nearly pitch over, sucking in rapid breaths through the pain as I stumble the last couple steps and fall against the gym door. At least she was considerate enough to drop me back off instead of dumping me outside the club. 

  
  
It swings open with my weight on a creaky hinge, the harsh noise piercingly loud in the deserted room. It can't be too late in the evening can it? My vision swims a bit as I scan the abandoned equipment and sink to the ground as the door bangs closed. I just need to make it to the office and then I can call Donnie and make sure he's been released. But god does it seem unreasonably far away at the moment. Slumping back against the door my hand slips into my pocket, pulling out the unassuming coin and turning it over in my hand.

  
  
"Lot of good you did." I mutter at it, running my thumb over its face, the pulse of Potter's magic tingling up my arm. There's a resounding thud as the office door jerks open and my eyes snap up and widen as Potter comes stumbling out, Caleb and Donnie at his heals.

  
  
"Oh shit." Caleb gasps as they stare at me with shock for a split second before their hurrying towards me. Their expressions could almost be comical, Donnie's face is near plastic with its calm reserve, as if his facial muscles simply refuse to settle on anything until he knows more. Caleb looks one step away from murder and Potter can't seem to decide what he wants to be and keeps flickering rapidly between emotions.

  
  
Potter reaches me first and drops to his knees, one hand joining mine to press into my side, leaving me to wonder how much of a puddle I'm making. "Bloody hell Draco." He whispers while using the heel of his other palm to wipe what I can only assume is more blood from my cheekbone. I have a completely useless and unwarranted urge to tell him that I don't tend to make a habit of getting beaten to a bloody pulp, as if that really matters at the moment. I meet his eyes and loll my head against the wood behind me. "What happened?" He asks as I blink away the unconsciousness that wants to reclaim me.

  
  
Donnie and Caleb appear on my other side, Donnie's fingers testing the curve of my jaw as his eyes seek out all my injuries. "She had you beaten?" He asks with a calculating tone and I smile tiredly at him as I feel relief flush through me. Because there isn't any visible mark on him, no pain in his voice or gaze which means while he spent a good amount of time being detained she didn't hurt him.

  
  
"No." I answer, my voice a tad hoarse. "She had me throw a fight." I pause and sink my hand more deeply into my side, the pain starting to spread and burn uncontrollably. "Wouldn't have been so bad if the crowd wasn't so mental and violent."

  
  
"The bitch." Caleb mumbles and a light chuckle jostles unpleasantly through me. A crude description perhaps but not inaccurate.

  
  
"What else Dray?" Donnie asks, knowing that placing me in a one brutal fight wouldn't be enough to pay off my debt in her eyes.

  
  
"There's a match at the end of the month..." I trail off, letting the rest hang between us unsaid because it doesn't need to be voiced.

  
  
Donnie nods and rubs a hand tiredly over his face, he looks like he's aged ten years in one night. "Alright, one thing at a time then. First things first let’s get you to a hospital." He moves to stand, grasping onto one of my arms as Potter takes the other and together they drag me to my feet.

  
  
I screw my eyes shut and count through my breaths before shaking my head. "No I'm fine." I tell him, knowing I can't go to the hospital, because I have to fight when and where Madame Safiya says - and she will not give a damn about my health. And if I go then the depth of my injuries will be made undeniably clear and I'll be forced into a slow recovery. I catch Potter’s eye and try to silently convey my intentions. "Just take me home."

  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea." Donnie says as my body slumps heavy between them and I can feel all three of their gazes boring intensely into me.

  
  
"It's fine really." I try to ensure him but his lips are fixed in a tight line, a deep worry shining in his eyes and I know he's not going to cave so easily. "Potter will be with me, he can get me to the hospital if need be." I add a bit reluctantly and I keep my gaze firmly away from the black haired wizard as I feel his arm tighten around me.

  
  
That sets off a round of uneasy questions and concerns of my passing out and not waking up but it's getting too hard to follow their string of conversation and I sag into Potter as they debate what to do with me. By the time their helping me out the door, Donnie disappearing to fetch his car, I have no idea where we've landed on the going to the hospital verses home thing. But I don't trust that I won't throw up if I open my mouth so I keep it shut and wait quietly, Potter and Caleb's voices drifting over me, back and forth, and I get the distinct impression even through my haze that their arguing. I can't be sure about what exactly but it seems as if Caleb isn't okay with relinquishing me into Potter's care. And if I wasn't so worried about vomiting and if the ground would just stop spinning I would shout at both of them to shut up because it's not for them to decide damn it.

  
  
I will not be turned into a victim ever again.

  
  
Then Donnie's pulling up and we're moving again, the door opening and I somehow manage to slip inside without crying out. Potter scoots in beside me in the backseat as I fall sideways like dead weight to lie across the vinyl. I hiss out as he nudges and lifts my legs a bit until their draped across his lap in order for him to actually have room to sit. He eyes me carefully then moves his fingers to curl under the hem of my shirt and I grasp his wrist - stopping him before he can lift it enough to reveal my torn flesh.

  
  
Chewing on his bottom lip he glances at the two in the front seat before setting his gaze on my red stained shirt. "How far is your flat?"

  
  
"We're almost there." Caleb answers for me as he twists in his seat to look back at us. "Do you have everything you need or should I run to the store?" He asks and I shake my head slowly.

  
  
"Won't need anything." I reply quietly, some of the nausea starting to retreat as I've been lying as still as possible.

  
  
The rest of the ride takes place in complete silence and I allow my eyes to slip shut and my hand to fall still, giving up some of my need for control and letting Potter keep up the firm pressure against my side to counteract the blood loss in light of my desperate need for rest. All too soon the car slows to a stop and I hear the distant sound of doors opening and shutting and Donnie's rough voice saying something that doesn't seem to have any meaning or structure. It taps at me, trying to convey some message but I just turn my head and curl a bit into myself, wanting nothing more than to achieve mindless sleep.

  
  
Then there's a light touch on my cheek and my eyes snap open to be met with concerned green. "We're here." Potter says as he pulls his hand back. "Can you get up?"

  
  
"I'm not an invalid." I grumble and run a hand over my face, trying to summon the energy to move.

  
  
"Course not." Potter snickers and it's somehow lightening to hear the teasing in his tone. "You just look like it." Cheeky git.

  
  
I scowl at him as he smiles and steps out of the car, my legs falling down at an awkward angle. After much inward warring with myself I finally manage to grasp the back of the seat and pull myself up, my head going right down between my knees as a new wave a sickness grips me. Dear god this is the worst bloody night.

Worst two nights actually. I resolve to never, ever find myself in this sort of position again as I scoot to the edge and my feet land on the road, my hands reaching out to cling to the door frame.

  
  
"Would you like a hand now?" Potter asks and I look up to see him standing in front of me with a wary smile, his arms crossed over his chest where his shirt has been completely ruined by my blood.

  
  
"Snarky doesn't fit you Potter." I retort but grasp his outstretched hand anyway because as much as I would like to exit the vehicle all on my own I don't believe it would have actually been possible. He pulls me out and Caleb is by my side so fast I don't even see him move, his hand catching my elbow to steady me as I sway.

  
  
This is all too much touching, too much sickness, too much fog in my mind, too much relying on others - it's everything I can't stand boiled down into one purely horrendous moment. Throwing my arm around Caleb's thick shoulders we make our way towards the apartment building as I count each painful step. But it will all be over soon. Soon my body will be healed enough to sink myself back into my conditioning regime and then maybe I'll be able to think clearly once more.

  
  
That is as long as the process doesn't completely end me.

  
  
Donnie shouts his goodbye, promising to check up on me and making Potter swear to get me to the hospital if there are any complications before driving off - leaving the three of us to enter the quiet building. Luckily my flat is on the first floor and Caleb leads us down the hall and around two right bends before stopping at my door and pulling my keys from his pocket. I forgot he still had them from before my match against Shen.

  
  
My door swings open and there's a long strained pause as I stare into the dark room beyond, my skin crawling at the lack of light and the deepness of the shadows merging together. I always leave a light on...which means something isn't right, someone has been here. Potter seems to sense my unease and sidles past us, slinking into my flat, the darkness engulfing him for a moment before I feel a surge of magic and then the lights are flickering on.

  
  
I let out a breath and straighten as much as I can, letting go of Caleb and am grateful when I don't immediately fall over. "Thanks." I say.

  
  
He opens his mouth and closes it, his hand twitching through his messy brown hair. "Course...look I..." Caleb falters and shifts his eyes to Potter quickly as he comes back towards us. "Maybe I should stay. Just in case..." Potter adjusts his glasses with a light touch as he leans against the wall, his eyes whispering over Caleb in a strange manner as he stares back at him.

  
  
Has Potter seriously already made a new enemy during the few hours I was gone?

I shake my head, my mind much too fuzzy to read the looks their sending each other and I honestly don't even care right now. "Don't worry about it, I'm fine." I tell him, my own gaze pulled back into my room, seeking out anything amiss.

Was it Madame Safiya?

  
  
"Okay, I'll come down tomorrow." Caleb tells me and I nod absentmindedly.

  
  
What could she gain by breaking into my flat? I'm confident no one’s still here otherwise Potter would have found them with whatever that spell he cast was and it hasn't been ransacked. So that leaves a calculated theft, something specific...but what could I possibly have that would tempt her? Sliding my hand down along the wall to keep my balance I make my way slowly into the single room, my eyes searching over my belongings. The bed is still neatly made, the wardrobe shut tight, the long oak desk still perfectly organized, and the bookcases lining the far wall still stretching their limit with texts – even what I can see of the kitchen from this angle looks untouched.

  
  
Nothing to suggest even a phantom, nothing except the absence of light. The side of my head presses into the wall as I stare around, my fingers sliding up and down, up and down the uneven paint.

  
  
"What is it?" Potter asks and I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  
  
"Someone's been here." I say quietly, letting out a long sigh, knowing I'll never feel truly safe here again.

  
  
"You're sure?" I know without even looking that his hand is hovering over his wand, ready to wield it at the slightest noise.

  
  
Nodding I turn just until my back is pressed against the wall and slip down to the floor, theft or not I need to deal with the gash in my side before I pass out and actually end up in the hospital. Looking up I silently watch him for a moment as he glares around my flat, as if just being angry enough at the empty air will reveal what happened and the dangers it might possess.

  
  
"Potter," I begin and he starts, his eyes flicking down to me, clearly unaware of my new position.

  
  
"Shit, you okay?" He drops down next to me, dark curls bouncing in his eyes before he shoves them away.

  
  
"Stop asking me that." I mutter and try to lift my shirt, cringing at the pain the awkward move causes. "Get this off me will you?" His hands move to replace mine and with much agonizing curses from me and mumbled instructions from him he finally manages to pull the ruined top over my head. Tearing the soaked bandage away before glancing down, my stomach sinks as I realize that the gash is much worse than I imagined and I have to look away quickly as my hand starts trembling and slipping over the bloodied surface. "Remember those healing spells?" I ask with a nervous lilt.

  
  
There's a part of me that can't believe I'm asking this of him, the realization that his magic will touch me, course through me, wind itself into the very fabric of my being is almost too much for me to bear. My brain starts to shut down to its simplest of functions, switching off the receptors that are trying to make me scramble away from the situation.

But there isn't a choice anymore, I need to be healed, I need to be ready for anything, and this is the only way.

  
  
He gently removes my hand and peers closely at the wound. "Yes, shouldn't be too hard." He tries to smile but it's weak and nervous and does nothing to build any confidence in me.

  
  
He pulls his wand out and slides closer on his knees. "Wait," I say, knowing I have to warn him, just in case. "Look I might...there could be..." I let out a shaky breath and rake my fingers through my hair as he cocks his head and stares patiently at me. "I may have an adverse reaction and there's a good chance I'll start asking you to stop. Just...don't, okay? Don't stop until it's done."

  
  
"Draco." He says my name in a whisper, imploringly. "Why...?" He probes and the look he's giving me makes me want to slap him. He asks that way too much for my liking, always has.

  
  
"Just get it over with." I bang my head back against the wall and close my eyes, my hands clenching in fists at my sides. I can do this, I need to do this, just count and don't stop no matter how bad it gets.

  
  
Potter's magic builds at a sudden and steady rate, crackling around me and buzzing in my ears, pulling at my frayed nerves and sinking like hot lead in the pit of my stomach. I know my mouth falls open as he directs it over my side and it plunges in and sears through my skin, the sharp edges ripping at me and demanding it knit back together. All the air rushes out of my lungs on a scream I can't hear but can feel tearing at my throat and I grope blindly through the nightmares swirling around me like a black hole - threatening to suck me in and never spit me out. Long blocked images and voices pierce through my mind and the numbers I've been multiplying fall to the wayside at such a rapid speed I can't keep up with them - can't grasp back a hold and I spin and I fall and I can't breathe. I'm being torn apart from the inside out as my body convulses and I think I'm shouting, but I can't comprehend my own words.

  
  
Then there's a beat breaking through the all-consuming vortex and I fling myself at it, desperate for its consistency. My blood flows towards it, picking up its steady thump and passing it through my body. It lights in my mind and slowly draws back the nightmares and the darkness and inch by inch I find myself again - the solid feel of warm skin under my hand, a pulse driving through my fingers, my breath sucking back into my long abandoned lungs. The magic condenses back to a single point, flaring in heat and intensity for a moment and then seeping out in long strings.

  
  
The buzz in my ears snap and I can suddenly hear myself panting, hear Potters soft mummers and my heavy eyelids flutter open. My vision is filled with wild inky black hair and I can feel Potter's breath ghosting down my neck, his free hand holding my palm flat under his shirt and over his heart. My nails dig into his skin as I press further into his heartbeat while it weaves itself in me. Then the last of the strings melts back and his voice stops its incantation. We both stay still and quiet for several long moments, his temple resting against mine.

  
  
"Alright?" He asks quietly.

  
  
I nod and curl my fingers against his chest, slipping it reluctantly out from under his hand and shirt. "Did it work?" I ask equally as quiet, for the room seems to still, to taut for anything louder.

  
  
He pulls back and looks down, his fingers brushing over where my injury was with a smile on his face. "Nearly as good as new. You'll have a scar though and need to take it easy for a while." I follow his gaze and find my skin sealed perfectly back together with only a long jagged pink scar shinning under the still bloody surface. I can still feel the tinge of magic but it’s distant and I pull myself as far from it as possible.

  
  
"Thank you." I say, staring at my hands and trying to expel the stir of heat and power that isn't his but mine. But I don't want to feel it, it's not mine to have anymore.

  
  
Moving to sit against the wall beside me, Potter places a cigarette between his lips and exhales loudly, fiddling with his lighter. "Thought you were going to actually keel over for a bit." He says, finally striking the catch and smoldering the tip. "Scary as hell."

  
  
Spreading my fingers wide on my thighs, I force a tight smile. I can't imagine what I must have looked and sounded like, scary as hell doesn't even come close to how it felt to experience it. My index finger twitches rapidly and I cast a sideways glance at him, his eyes are closed, his bloodied hand holding the white stick loose above his knee. "Yeah. How did you know to..." I hesitate not really knowing how to phrase it but needing to know how he knew shoving my hand against his heart would work to bring me back.

  
  
"You did it last night." He shrugs one shoulder and pulls a deep drag. "It was a last ditch effort really, glad it worked though."

  
  
And surprisingly that's all he says, no questions, no demands to know why I'm being so mental. He just sits silently beside me, smoking and staring at the same empty space of wall I am. It's oddly comforting, his presence solid and warm and so uniquely him in a way that I can't pinpoint, can't process it into coherent thoughts or words. It's the first time since he's crashed back into my life where I haven't felt him tearing at my soul with just the implication of his very being. It's as if all the time, all the pain, the horror, and the grief has slipped away for a brief respite and all that's left is just this.

  
  
Sitting on a floor so very far from home. Together.

  
  
I know this contentment will flee as quickly as it's settled around us but for now...for now I allow a small part of myself to savor it before it's gone.


	5. Woven In

**_Italics = Flashback to Seventh Year_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
_"This is rubbish." I mutter to myself, flipping forward a few pages in the old worn volume and snorting as my eyes scan over the text. "No, no that's wrong. Who the hell wrote this?" Snapping it shut, I turn it over on the long wooden table and read the faded title: Dark Curses and Hexes for Light Witches and Wizards by Mrs. Mary Collbot._

  
  
_What the hell does that even mean? It can't be Light and Dark magic at the same time the twit. The woman was obviously off her rocker, no wonder the spells are all wonky. Pushing the book away I strain my ears for the umpteenth time, trying without success to hear the conversation going on just outside the tent._

  
  
_Damn silencing spells._

  
  
_With a sigh I go back to glaring at the hideous red and gold tie, charmed to chain one of my wrists to the table, as I tug uselessly at it. I could honestly kill Granger and her brilliant idea to use Potter's old school attire to 'make sure I'm not up to anything' while I'm sleeping or their off gallivanting heroically._

__

__

_ Or more accurately, talking heroically since I don't believe they've actually gone anywhere. _

  
  
_For three weeks. They just tie me up, leave me in this god forsaken tent with one of the mudblood's books, and then they glare and spout all the reasons I better not revert back into a ridiculously evil Death Eater, and walk out. Alright so maybe it's just the weasel spewing the threats but still..._

  
  
_Brilliant plan of theirs really. Because I may actually become what they think I'm suppressing just out of sheer boredom._

  
  
_Because gods am I bored. Three measly weeks with the Golden Trio and I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin with pent up energy and aggression. I've put all of my focus into holding my tongue, which is not an easy task in their company I assure you, and still they mostly just treat me with brooding contempt. And it's not as if I expected them to just embrace me, probably would have hexed them if they had actually - I mean I wouldn't trust me! But the lack of outright assault and being alone so much has left me fantastically bored. There is absolutely nothing to do._

  
  
_And I cannot tolerate it. My mind is much too sharp an instrument to be left gathering dust._

  
  
_Whenever they do deem to grace me with their presence they take to very peculiar behavior - Granger chucks books at me whenever I open my mouth, the weasel just glares and stays out of my way, and Potter has gotten suspiciously good at staring at the floor and stilling his crazy Gryffindor rage. I may have to start provoking them again just to stave off insanity._

  
  
_What I wouldn't give at the moment to see Potter's face glaring crimson as he tries to sputter out a witty retort, his fists clenched at his sides. Hell I would even settle for an explosion of Weasley's blind violence._

__

__

_ It wouldn't take much, would be so easy... _

  
  
_And oh would you look at that, fate has smiled upon me finally, in the form of one very angry looking Harry Potter. My hand, which had been trying to wiggle its way free from its bind, falls to the wood tabletop as the tent's flaps whip closed behind him, his eyes blazing. He paces two steps towards me, turns to the right, hesitates, turns to the left, shoves a hand through his disastrous hair, bites his lip, huffs out a loud breath, and clenches his fists into his curls all in the span of five seconds._

  
  
_I know because I counted. That is how bored I am._

  
  
_Plus I do believe this is the most emotion I've seen him display since he found me. He looks positively mental. And for once he's all alone, lucky me._

  
  
_Propping my elbow on the table, I lean causally against my open palm, arching my eyebrow at him as he mutters incoherently to himself. "Careful Potter or your head might just implode if you keep insisting on over taxing it." I drawl, letting a smirk play across my lips when his eyes finally snap to mine._

  
  
_He looks surprised to see me._

  
  
_Well isn't that just peachy. Here I've been dying for company, hell even willing to settle for Weasley's drab conversation skills, and he's staring at me as if I've just popped up from the bowels of the earth. He blinks at me and shakes his head as if these actions will make me melt away like I'm nothing but a hallucination._

  
  
_This will not do. I will not be forgotten about so easily._

  
  
_"Care to remove your offensive binding?" I ask, lifting my wrist as far from the table as the tie will allow._

  
  
_That seems to snap him out of his stupor. His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms. "Why would I want to do that Malfoy?'_

  
  
_"One because I am not cattle and resent being treated as such. Secondly you look like you want to hit something and I would prefer to be able to fight back." I tell him, feeling my pulse jump at even the possibility of a confrontation._

  
  
_"I'm not going to attack you." He mumbles, sliding onto the bench opposite me. That's a first, does he realize he's actually sitting with me?_

  
  
_"Are you trying to imply that you’re going to reasonably process and discuss what’s bothering you?" I tilt my head and hold his gaze. "Because I've yet to see proof that you’re capable of that."_

  
  
_He glares as his hand forms a fist on the table and I smile malevolently. "Can't you just shut up?"_

  
  
_"No." I drum my fingers on the wood and hold my look of contemplation. "Now I wonder what's gotten you so worked up this time, are you perhaps finally cracking under the pressure?"_

  
  
_"You wish." He grumbles but he doesn't get up to leave where normally by this time he would have already stormed off. Maybe he really is looking for an excuse to fight with me, Merlin knows he looks tense enough to want to vent it all out. Well I can certainly oblige._

__

__

_ Happily even. _

  
  
_"How very astute of you. Of course I've just been dying for you to lose it so that the Dark Lord can win and slaughter me."_

  
  
_"What's with you, you prick?" There's an edge to his voice now that rings familiar and I let my lips curve up into a deeper smirk. "YOU asked US for help remember?"_

  
  
_"Oh yes and I'm just so eternally grateful." I sneer and tug at my binding dramatically. "This is really all a dream come true. Being tied to one spot and forced to read Granger's pitiful books as my only source of entertainment while you three plot His demise. How's that coming by the way? Because from the look of it you and your little leeches can't agree on anything."_

  
  
_He jerks until he's in a funny half sitting, half standing stance, raging at me with his hands pressed flat between us. "Bloody git you've been eavesdropping!" The force of his magic shocks over me, sending tingles down my spine._

  
  
_"And how would I manage that exactly?" I ask in a bored tone as I look up at him. "You took my wand remember?"_  
  
 

 _His face contorts in a mix between confusion and anger and in a huff he drops heavily back onto the bench - his fingers clawing at his neck where there's a thin silver chain resting, the end of it dipping beneath his shirt. Since when has Potter been the jewelry type?_  
  
 

 _"Sorry." He grumbles, his eyes taking on a sheen of weariness that saps all his energy in an instant._  
  
 

_ "I think I must have heard you wrong because that sounded like an apology." I reply with a frown as his head thunks forward to lay face down against the table. Oh my god what is with these switching moods! How am I supposed to argue with him when he keeps shifting all over the place?  _

__

__

_Stop changing the footing Potter!_  
  
 

 _He mutters something unintelligible into the wood and I can't stop myself. It's just too pathetic, too disconcerting. So before I can fully think through my actions I reach across the span between us and smack him upside the head._  
  
 

 _"Ow!" He shouts, his hand shooting to the back of his head as he sits up and fixes me with a glare. "What the bloody hell was that for?"_  
  
 

 _I shrug one lazy shoulder. "Looked like you needed it." I say, flicking a speck of dirt off my sleeve._  
  
 

 _His lips turn down into a deep frown as he glowers at me for several long moments, my own gaze perfectly steady and unflinching in his. "Oh fuck this." He suddenly snaps and swings his legs off the bench as he pulls his wand out and points it to where his tie is secured to a hook in the table. With a swish and mutter it springs free and he immediately gathers the end in his free hand._  
  
 

 _"What-?" I sputter and stumble as he yanks on it without so much as a warning, pulling me forward and off the bench. I dig my heels in as he drags me through the flaps in the tent and out into the biting winter air. "Potter stop you idiot!" I shout at him, my free hand grasping onto my other wrist where the tie is digging into my flesh. I'm starting to get a bit worried he's going to dislocate something if he doesn't slow the hell down and stop tugging on me. "I am not a dog!"_  
  
 

 _He tosses me a smirk over his shoulder and doesn't miss a single step in his quick stride. "Then keep up Malfoy."_  
  
 

 _I catch sight of the weasel and Granger off to the side, his mouth hanging open, her head tilted just so in confusion as they watch their best friend drag me through the woods. "Harry..." Granger says quizzically. "Where are you going?"_  
  
 

 _"Be back soon." He answers without looking at them._  
  
 

 _Anger flares in my chest at being treated in such a manner and in front of the lemmings no less!  Picking up my pace, I quickly tangle part of the smooth fabric in my fingers and grasp it with both hands, letting out a furious grunt as I throw all my strength into yanking back on it, planting my feet firmly into the soft ground beneath me._  
  
 

 _"I said stop!" I hiss and stumble back as Potter's hold falters, his feet sliding through a patch of frozen mud. The tie slips from his hand for all but a second before he's catching it again._  
  
 

 _Damn Seeker reflexes._  
  
 

 _His cheeks are turning red from the cold but he just grins as he twines a good portion of it around his own hand. "And I said to keep up." He actually winks, the insane bastard, and pulls hard and I just barely manage to catch hold of a tree trunk to keep myself from falling face first in the process._  
  
 

 _These drastic mood swings of his are going to give me whiplash. And quite literally it seems as I try my best to keep up with him. I have no idea where we're going and I have to spend all my concentration on not tripping over any jutting roots or the uneven forest floor. My breath comes out in little puffs of white smoke and I may just actually kill him for this. Then again maybe that's his plan. Take me deep into the woods, murder me, and take my decapitated head back as a present for Weasley._  
  
 

 _When he finally stops at the edge of a small clearing, I fix him with an icy glare and take the last remaining step, slapping my hand hard across his cheek before he has a chance to even blink._  
  
 

 _"Damn it Malfoy stop doing that!" He howlers, his hand holding his stinging cheek._  
  
 

_ "Don't you dare ever do that again." I say in a low voice, my tone smooth and cold as ice, the perfect pitch of an angry Slytherin and I smile inwardly as he takes a step back.  _

__

__

_Seriously though were does he get off doing that to me? He could have just bloody asked me to follow him. I would have gone eagerly, anything to break my boredom but this is not okay!_  
  
 

 _He opens his mouth as if to apologize but a second later his jaw snaps shut without a sound - his nose screwing up as his fingers lift to rub over his lightening scar. "Why did you call Hermione's book pitiful?"_  
  
 

 _"Come again?" I wasn't expecting that, because that is not an apology nor is it an explanation as to why he dragged me all the way out here. So help me Merlin I'm going to do more than smack him again if he did all that just to talk to me about books. Not even good books, horrifically boring inaccurate books at that!_  
  
 

 _"The book you were reading, you called it pitiful, but it was about the Dark Arts yeah? Shouldn't that make it right up your alley?" Potter explains, cocking an eyebrow at me and shoving a hand into his jacket's pocket._  
  
 

 _I sneer at the implication but I suppose it's not untrue. I do know my way quite well around the darker side of magic. Still he shouldn't automatically assume that that makes me a lover of all things evil and hideous. This man is the king of assumptions. "There were no Dark Arts contained within that book." I inform him and try not to shiver as the cold seeps into my bones, my gaze hardening icily as I eye the thick wool wrapped around him._  
  
 

 _Selfish git could have at least let me grab a jacket._  
  
 

 _"But the title..."_  
  
 

 _"Oh yes quite clever really, Dark Arts for Light Witches and Wizards. It's a fools run Potter, a scam if you will. Because there can be no such thing as Light and Dark magic commingling, they would cancel each other out." I tell him and watch the puzzlement pull at his face. He can't be that stupid can he?_  
  
 

 _Then his expression is morphing, melting into one of pure rage as he lets out a growl and fists his fingers so tightly into his hair I'm surprised he doesn't pull his raven curls out in chunks. "Then how am I supposed to bloody do it?!" He screams and I force myself to stay still, to not back away from him as he fumes at the ground._  
  
 

 _"Oh my god Potter you have lost it, seriously lost it." I mutter, feeling perfectly unsafe and wanting nothing more than to turn and run as his magic reaches a crackling pitch in the air. But of course I can't because the prat is still holding his end of the tie like a damn leash._  
  
 

 _"What are you on about now?" He bites out, his green eyes churning with a darkness that shouldn't be there._  
  
 

 _"Your insane mood swings Potter, it's like being tossed around by a bunch of Hippogriffs." I reach up and rub at the soreness settling into my shoulder from being yanked around as he gapes at me - like he has no idea what I'm talking about._  
  
 

 _"I..." He breathes and then plunges his hand into the neck of his shirt and rips the necklace off over his head, his fingers tremble around the pendent for a moment before he tosses it._  
  
 

 _Now I assume he meant for it land on the ground but curiosity got the best of me and as it arches in the air my fingers reach out and close around it. I see his eyes light, the darkness and swirling clouds clearing in the same moment it grabs me. Because that is the simplest way to describe it. My feet sink in the ground as dark magic crawls up my arm, lacing through my breath, invading my thoughts, and bringing to the surface unimaginable horror._  
  
 

 _I look down at the ornate locket lying in my hand and can practically see the evilness inside, begging for release. So unassuming, so perfectly disguised but it's there and I feel as if I've been dipped in a vat of oily slime. Never to be truly clean again._  
  
 

 _"Malfoy?" Potter asks and when I meet his eyes it's to find him watching me curiously, his eyes narrowed in question._  
  
 

 _"Where did you get this?" I demand, because I cannot fathom how Harry Potter, the almost sickeningly righteous hero, has come into possession of a clearly exceedingly dark artifact._  
  
 

 _And he was bloody wearing it!_  
  
 

 _His teeth sink into the tip of his tongue as I hold the locket out between us, not daring to bring it any closer to my body. One does not mess with things like this. "What do you know of it?" He asks after a while, the heel of his foot propping itself against the bark of a tree as he leans back against it._  
  
 

_ I watch his face, the angry lines no longer marring him, the rage completely vanished from his lips and eyes - replaced with a quiet calm and deep curiosity. Drastic mood swings indeed, serves him right for adorning the damn necklace.  _

__

__

_Closing my eyes, I tentatively curl my fingers back around it, gathering all the accessible magic pumping through my veins and sending it outwards - directing it in careful probes against the locket. The darkness inside licks back at me as I skirt around it, seeking a way in, looking for any information I can gather._  
  
 

 _Of course if I had my wand this would be much easier._  
  
 

_ I pick up little bits here and there, all of them distorted, and skewed no doubt by its maker to hide his trail and its true nature. I don't trust anything I've been able to learn and with a sigh I open my eyes, letting the waves slowly recede and fall back into place. Whoever made this was a bloody evil genius.  _

__

__

_Although there's something about it, about the way it touches me that seems a bit familiar._  
  
 

 _I shudder involuntary and look back up. "Nasty little locket you have Potter. Isn't willing to give up any of its secrets either."_  
  
 

 _His green eyes are comically wide and he's staring at me as if I've sprouted another head. "You...you...how do you...?"_  
  
 

 _"How did I what?" I ask, letting the chain slip through my fingers till the locket is dangling in the air by my feet._  
  
 

 _He swallows thickly and glances from my face to the necklace and back. "How did you know it has dark magic?" The words tumble out of his lips in a rush and I furrow my brow._  
  
 

 _"Wasn't difficult, it's practically reeking of it." Why is he looking at me like that? It's unnerving to say the least and then a thought hits me and I stare intently back at him. "Potter did you not know?" I ask even though it's completely absurd to think he was so utterly clueless about it._  
  
 

 _He shakes his head, a sad smile tugging at his mouth that makes me entirely uncomfortable and I have no desire to know the reason behind it. "No I knew, it's just that...do you mean that you can feel it?"_  
  
 

 _"Why is that so shocking? Like I said this thing is as subtle as Hagrid amongst a batch of first years." I pause and take in the tense line of his jaw, the just crinkled nose, the puzzlement fighting for answers in his irises. "Can you not?"_  
  
 

 _"I..." He stops and looks over my shoulder, back towards the camp and when I follow his gaze it's to find nothing there - just empty trees and white powered ground. When I look back he's staring at me again while taking a step closer and I get the distinct impression that if he could open up a hole in the ground and sink me into it, he would. "Kinda. It speaks to me in a way but...Ron and Hermione can't feel it like that. I mean it affects us after wearing it for a while but that's about it."_  
  
 

 _"Yes about you that, you really should stop." I inform him, biting my tongue against giving him a sound lashing for doing something so stupid._  
  
 

 _His fingers drop to tangle in the chain, curling around my own frozen digits and lifts it along with my hand up to our faces. I can see him debating with himself, a silent war played so clearly across his face. "You're good at this kind of stuff aren't you? I mean you're good with dark artifacts?"_  
  
 

 _"Yes." I answer slowly, bit of a specialty of mine actually, of course he doesn't need to know that._  
  
 

 _His eyes flash with something and he scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip as the wind picks up around us, cutting through me in a matter of seconds. "Can you destroy it then?"_  
  
 

 _My hair flies into my eyes but I don't push it away, can't seem to move as I stare back at him as my mind processes his words. Now there's a chance I'm mistaken but...did he just ask for my help?_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_****_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The high pitch shrill of the kettle whistling its warning cuts through my dreams and pulls me from the realm of blissful sleep. My arms curl up under my pillow, my legs spread eagle and tangled in the sheets, the soreness reaching through every cell of my body coming back into focus as the last remnants of sleep slip from me. Turning my head stiffly from where it was pressed face first between two pillows, I blink through the morning haze and stifle a groan - bloody hell I haven't even moved and I feel like I've been dropped off a cliff.

The curtain over the window is drawn but through the cracks of the thick fabric is the softest gleam of silvery light, hinting at the fact that it's sometime during the night. Lifting up carefully onto my elbows I sink my fingers into my hair, breathing deeply against the fatigue that doesn't seem to want to leave me. The soft click of dishes setting down against the counter top and the hiss of hot water being poured draws my attention and I close my eyes once more, willing strength back into my limbs so I can be sitting up by the time he comes back in.

There's the quiet pad of bare feet against worn carpet and my head sags heavily into my hands, no such luck. "Hey, you’re up." Potter's voice drifts over me and I nod, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice cracking with disuse. 

The scent of rich black tea and vanilla wafts close by and I lift my head a fraction of an inch to see him place a tall mug on the bedside table. "About eight." I hear him walk back towards the kitchen as I stare at the wisps of gray steam rising in steady curls.

Eight in the evening..."I slept the whole day?" He's back and placing a second mug down along with two squat phials, the bed sinking beneath his weight as he perches himself on the edge. I glance up over my shoulder through my silvery fringe and he reaches out and brushes a thick chuck back, clearing my view of him.

"Two days actually. Donnie stopped by, didn't stay long. Just popped in to make sure you were still breathing and then put me under strict orders to have you call him once you woke up." He says, placing a hand slightly behind him and leaning back on it. "Caleb's been here twice already too...does he live here?" Potter asks and I nod, turning carefully to lie on my back, my fingers rubbing in circles over my right temple as I try to drive away the oncoming headache.

"Yeah, he's on the...second floor I think." Potter nods a bit absentmindedly as he reaches for one of the mugs. "Have you been here the whole time?" I ask, cracking my eyes open to take him in. There's a shadow of a beard spreading across his cheeks, darkening his features even more and he's wearing a clean set of clothing - a form fitting green tee-shirt and a pair of worn jeans with the threads in the knees threatening to snap at any moment.

"Most of it." He sips at his tea, the heat of it fogging his glasses. "Left for a bit to get a few things. I also placed an order for some potions for you to heal the internal damage, they came in this morning."

My eyes drift to the phials on the table and I cover my face with my hands. More fucking magic. "Internal damage?" I ask, wondering how he knows for sure. Maybe if it's not too bad I can forgo the potions...

"Don't get mad." He starts and I drag myself up until I'm sitting against the headboard, fixing him with a steady gaze as I wait for him to continue - those words are never good coming out of his mouth. "I performed a few diagnosis spells while you were sleeping." He finishes sheepishly, having the grace to look down into his mug with a touch of shame.

My jaw clenches and I suck in a sharp breath through my nose as two separate but equally important thoughts rage though my mind. The first being that it is not good that he managed to cast a spell over me and I didn't wake up at all, didn't feel anything. The second is a flood of anger at the intrusion of my privacy and my heart hammers at all that he may have uncovered. I choke back the feast of emotions that try to come tumbling out and reach out to run my fingers over the curves of the small table.

"Potter." I say tensely, letting the rest hang unspoken, the question implied.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye and twists a few strands of his hair around two fingers, a nervous tick I recognize. Oh this is not good. "It was interesting...I couldn't...I mean there was some...it didn't make a lot of sense..." He rambles and I feel my guts twist sharply.

"Spit it out." I demand as his lip gets trapped between his teeth.

"Well, er, the internal bleeding and damage to your organs was pretty obvious but there was something else..." He sets his mug down then turns to face me fully, his head tilting, his eyes running over me like he's trying to read another diagnosis. I feel myself flush all over as my breath picks up and I suddenly feel very naked under his gaze - my hand curling in the blanket and holding it against my hip, wishing I had put a shirt on before falling asleep. Even such an insignificant barrier would be helpful at the moment. "I don't know, there was a block of some sort that wouldn't let me through, I could only get little glimpses. Draco -"

I know exactly what he's going to ask and I don't give him the chance, because it is not his business. "Which do I take first?" I cut him off, motioning to the phials, resignation seeping into his sigh as he grasps the larger one and hands it to me. I pull the stopper, a foul stench seeping out as I hesitate before closing my eyes and tipping it back. It burns all the way down and I gasp, flexing the muscles in my jaw as the oily liquid spreads through me, settling into me with a distinct hum of energy.

"I'll go make you something to eat." Potter says and I nod without opening my eyes, the bed shifting again as he gets up.

Dropping the empty potion I grab the second one and with a deep breath press it to my lips and pour it down my throat. The burn the first one caused suddenly ignites as this one joins it and courses like a raging river. My mind tries to snap away from it but it presses forward, forcing its way into my blood, seeking to heal me and I fly off the bed - running to the bathroom faster than I thought possible at the moment. My knees crash and scrape against the tile, my hands grasping the edge of the toilet as I vomit, my body trying to dispel the vile potion. My stomach clenches and convulses, my head splitting open as I retch against the bile, laying a burning cheek against my forearm when it finally stops - breathing deeply through the tremor in my limbs for several minutes.

That better be the last of the magical healing necessities, I don't think I can handle any more.

Determined not to dwell on the feeling the potion has fixed in me, I slowly rise and meticulously go about preparing myself. The toothpaste runs across my toothbrush, the bristles with just a bit too much pressure from my fingers scourge my teeth as I count through each drag. I keep my gaze from connecting with the mirror above the sink, not wanting to confront what I look like just yet as I rinse my mouth. After splashing a few handfuls of cold water over my stinging face, I dry off and comb my fingers through my hair, exciting the bathroom with my head held high.

Looking much more in control than I feel.

Grabbing a black sleeveless shirt from the wardrobe, I quickly pull it on, my hands pausing briefly over my newly acquired scar. Potter's magic still faintly hums over the puckered skin and I pull my fingers back, adjusting the low slug black sleep pants with a quick tug up my hips.

I pick up the mug of still hot tea and pad into the little kitchen where Potter is scrapping a skillet full of scrambled eggs onto a plate. Pulling a chair out from the small square table, I drop my sore and weary body into it, my elbow propping against the ledge as I take a deep drink from the mug.

He smiles at me as he slides the plate before me, the distinct smell of eggs making my stomach churn. I know I need to eat, it's been much too long since my last meal but still, the thought and smell is threatening to make me sick again. As he slips into the other chair I notice his old leather notebook resting beside him, the binding looking as if it's held together more by magic and sheer force of will than anything else as the pages threaten to split and spill out from the amount of papers shoved between them. It's open to a page near the back, a pen lying across the parchment half filled with his messy script, the words nearly unintelligible.

  
  
"Don't recall you being the journaling type." I say, taking another drink of the tea, my eyes traveling back up to him.

  
  
He's leaning with both elbows on the table, cradling his mug in his hands, the green of his shirt lending an alluring deepness to his eyes as they smile at me from over his drink. "Comes with the job." He says in way of an explanation which really means nothing because I thought he was just traveling...

"Job?" I query, forcing myself to pick up my fork and take a bit of the warm peppered eggs, swallowing the food posing more of an issue than I expected.

He nods and drags his notebook towards himself, pulling a folded glossy paper from under it and placing it against the crease of the open page before carefully shutting it. I think bulging would actually be an understatement to describe the book laying under his hand now. "Yeah I'm a travel writing for the Quibbler. Vacation spots and all that."

Potter a writer? That doesn't fit with my memory of him, of his frustration and groaning at every essay he ever had to compose.

"So that's why you've been traveling?" After another bite I drop the fork and push the plate a little ways away, I don't think I can stomach it right now.

"No, more of an excuse to justify it when people started badgering me. I write something if I come across a particularly nice or interesting place." I can't stop the chuckle that slips out because for some reason it just seems a bit comical to me. "What?" He asks.

"Nothing, just a bit funny really." I smile and stretch my aching legs out. "Harry Potter's Wizarding Vacations. Bet they get a load of tourists after your articles come out."

"Doubt it. I write under a pen name." He informs me, pushing my still nearly full plate back towards me. "You need to eat if you want to recover."

That's actually not surprising, he was always a little uncomfortable with his fame. I wonder if it got worse after the war? I pick at my plate, grudgingly knowing that he's right.

"Why doesn't anyone call you Draco?" He asks suddenly and I glance up with my mouth full of eggs at the unexpected question.

Well that was a shift of topic and not smoothly done either, but that was never Potter's forte. No, he always just burst headlong wherever he wanted to go, dragging his companion with him. It takes a few moments before I can force myself to swallow as I lean back in my chair. "Well it's a very unusual name among wizards and almost unheard of in muggle communities."

"So you shortened it to blend in?" He finishes for me and I nod. What I don't tell him was that it was rather an accident. The first muggle to ask my name, I had started answering automatically before realizing how strange it would sound to him and my voice had trailed off. Leaving just Dray, my new name. Potter looks me over, a smile playing in constant motion on his lips like he's trying not to laugh. "So Dray Malfoy huh? Cause it sounds more normal...I think your Father would roll over in his grave if he heard those words coming out of your mouth."

"Not Malfoy." I correct him, the mention of my Father strangely causing not even a stir of emotion in me. Nothing, just...cold.

"Really? His smile slips a little. "What then?"

"Evans." The smile bounces back up into an even wider grin than before and I cannot fathom why that is so funny. It's a good name I should think. "What?" I snap, not liking the way his eyes are nearly sparkling. It reminds me too much of the way he looks before he's about to get into some horrendous mischief.

His elbows are back on the table as he leans forward, propping his chin atop his hands. "Evans huh? How'd you come up with that?" 

I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out because I can't remember. It just sort of slipped out when that muggle merchant asked for my name all those years ago. There's something tapping at the back of my mind, trying to place where I got it from, knowing that it does seem familiar in a distant sort of way. But nothing surfaces and I narrow my eyes.

"I don't know, does it matter?" I ask suspiciously.

  
  
  


"It doesn't sound familiar?" He probes and I press my lips tightly together in a thin pink line. "Just think about it Draco." He laughs and pushes back from the table, carrying his empty mug to the sink.

  
  
I stare at his back, the lean muscles moving beneath the fitted shirt as he rinses his dish and places it at the edge of the sink. For later use, like he lives here, the small insignificant action making me shift uneasily in my chair. When he turns back around I quickly school my features into a mask of indifference and get up, trying to ignore the way his eyes slip down my body - his voice from long ago ringing suddenly in my mind about me wearing all black. A flush threatens to rise in my cheeks before I shove it away, relieved when it sinks back without much of a fight.

  
  
At least it's getting a little easier, especially since it seems as if Potter has no intention of leaving any time soon.

  
  
"You are insufferable Potter." I tell him, dumping the rest of the eggs into the garbage before turning and leaving him standing in the kitchen, his gaze following me all the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one more chapter and the crazy intense emotions will settle down. If you're enjoying this I'd love to hear from you :)


	6. A Blaze and Fall

"Like this?"

  
I place my hands under the curve of Potter's wrists and direct them up and over a few inches. "Don't lock your elbows." I instruct, glancing briefly at him, then balancing my weight on my back foot and raising my fists. "Ready?" I ask and he nods, his own weight shifting to brace himself against the oncoming blows. My breath comes out in one long even exhale and then I pivot my hip, sending a reserved jab against his bare palm.

  
The slight shock bouncing up my naked fist brings a smile to my lips, the beautiful sound of it rising around us. God I've missed this. Nearly a whole week of a forced hiatus while my body set itself on the course of healing was starting to drive me insane. I've been itching to get back to the gym, my entire being buzzing with suppressed energy forcing its way through the pain that still grips me now and then.

  
There was only so many times I could comb my flat to recheck that nothing was missing from the break in, so many stilted conversation I could have with Potter, so many hours I could read and try to stay still.

I do not take well to idling away my time.

  
A breeze whips my hair into my eyes and I take a moment to brush it back away with a bent knuckle before attacking Potter's reddening hand again.

  
Except Donnie doesn't think I'm ready to start training again and actually went as far as to kick me out of the gym this morning, stating what I needed was more rest and it wouldn't do me any good to jump back in too early. Which is why I'm currently beating into Potter's hand as gently as I can beside a smooth pond that's shimmering in the mid afternoon sun.

Apart from the gym this is my favorite place to come, the sprawling grounds providing a peaceful departure from the hustle of life.

  
My mind sharpens, the floating sound of children playing and all the hell that this week has been easing to the back of my mind and everything is good again. The lines in Potter's palms stand out starkly as I hone my vision until it's the only thing I see, my fists hitting in just the right spot, with just enough force with every inhale and exhale.

  
His right hand suddenly shoots out to his side as he fully extends his arm. My eyes follow its journey and with a smirk I punch into it with perfect ease, despite the unexpected shift. I catch his gaze for a moment and he's grinning, his hands moving in a constant unpredictable pattern now, his feet sliding back and sideways on occasion - my body flowing right along with every little move without any conscious thought. Then his fingers are curling, his opposite leg stepping towards me as he sends a jab my way. I knock it sideways with ease as my heartbeat quickens and thumps in my ears.

 

Who knew Potter would be good at this.

"Turning the tables?" I quirk an eyebrow and twist away from another attempted blow, sending my own into his side.

He grunts through a flinch. "Scared?" He teases as he completely abandons his practice stance in favor for an offensive attack.

I slip in and bring my elbow dangerously close to his temple, pulling back just in time to prevent any damage. "You don't stand a chance Potter."

He shrugs as we circle each other. "I'm not totally useless at this you know." He tells me even though if this were a real fight he'd already be unconscious on the floor. But it’s not and I feel the last bit of tension drain from my muscles.

This is what I've needed.

"I could take you in a second." I retort and his grin splits his face, his eyes reduced to narrow slits from the force of it.

"All talk so far Malfoy." He taunts and I can't have that.

"Alright then." I say and move in, his fist grazing past me as I bend and twist, sending my shin into his ribs - dropping my foot down his side and leg as he stumbles, the back of my heel curling around his ankle as my palm connects with his chest. He lets out a cry as he falls, crashing onto the dry grass, my knees dropping on either side of him the moment he lands. Grabbing his wrists I pin them to the ground above his head and chuckle at the stunned look on his face.

Don't think he expected to be taken down so fast. "Yield Potter?" I ask, feeling his chest heave with each breath under me.

"I don't think that was a legal move." He narrows his eyes and takes a moment to test my hold on his hands before going still.

I look up and all around us before raising one eyebrow at him. "I don't see a ring anywhere." I drawl, trying not to let out a snicker at the weak attempt to discredit my win, especially because he wouldn't know an illegal Muay Thai move if it bit him. "But you’re right I wouldn't even use that in a fight...it's much too simple a move, a real opponent wouldn't fall for it." 

He glares and turns his head a little, his glasses skewed on his nose. "Bloody prat." He grumbles. "See if I help you again." Which is a bit of a ridiculous thing to say considering he's the one who's been following me around.

I press a little harder against his wrists, fixing him with a bored look as he hisses in a breath. "Come on Potter, you've lost, all you've got to do is say it and I'll get off."

His tongue peaks out to lick his bottom lip before he sucks it between his teeth, my eyes involuntarily following the movement as the muscles in his arms relax. "Oh yeah?" He says quietly and in the next second he's wrapping his legs around my hips, his hands contorting to curve around my own as he twists with all his strength and unbelievable speed.

With a surprised yelp my back smashes into the ground, Potter's grinning face leering above my own as he stretches my arms as far above me as they'll go, causing the joints in my shoulders and wrists to burn with pressure.

My mouth falls open in shock as I blink up at him, how the hell did he manage that? "What the hell Potter?" I grunt, my mind spinning with possible explanations as to why he was able to take me off guard.

"You gunna yield?"  He taunts, his emerald eyes shining and I can feel the rapid rhythm of his heart pressed against my own. My eyes narrow and he nods, answering my silent refusal. "Oh yes." My stare turns icy which only seems to increase his mood that's quickly turning giddy. "Come on Draco, just say it." He mimics me, his weight sinking me into the parched ground, forcing me to feel every hard line and curve of his body. Couple that with the closeness of his face, filling my vision completely and it's all starting to cut off my ability to focus, my pulse jumping sporadically.

I have seriously got to steal and destroy his damn shampoo. Or maybe it's his soap, either way it has to go.

"Your heart’s racing." He says suddenly, his red lip back between his teeth, his fingers tightening over mine.

Why does he say things like that? I've never been able to understand his logic behind blurting out whatever he's thinking. What good does it do?

"That's because you’re bloody heavy." I fight a blush and hope to god I win but the heat from the sun and his body is building a furnace within me and I'm sure it seeps though, clear as day as he stares down at me.

And enough of is enough, I need to get out from under him before he opens that mouth of his again.

"Potter." I say slowly, bending my knee up to press along his side and under his arm in warning, drawing a trace of apprehension into his expression. "I don't think you want to push me."

 

"Oh I think I really do." He answers in an equally low tone and my mind immediately condenses into a flip film of the next three steps it will take to reclaim the victory.

"For fucks sake Dray, I told you to go home and rest."

We both freeze, our eyes snapping in unison over to the intruding voice to find Donnie standing a few feet away with tired eyes and crossed arms. Caleb's at his side with his lips parted and brow furrowed and their both staring at us in such an incredulous way that I feel my face immediately heat up again - suddenly achingly aware of what we must look like.

 

"How..." I state at a loss for what to say as I squint up at them.

"I've been trying to call you for a few hours now." Donnie sighs, turning his wrist to glance at the face of his watch. "Come on, we need to talk."

Potter releases my wrists and pushes himself up onto his hands, staring down at me with a smile on the corner of his mouth, his head cocked, and a curious glint in his eyes. "How was that going to work?" He asks, glancing at my still bent knee. I give him a look that clearly says he's not going to get the method out of me and he laughs. "Fine, I'll just have to find out next time." He shakes his head and sits back on his heels, finally freeing me.

I roll to my feet and dust off my knees. "I do believe you won't get a chance to next time." I inform him.

"Nice to see you’re still as cocky as ever." He retorts as he plucks his glasses off his face and proceeds to clean them with the hem of his shirt.

"Always, Potter, always." Slipping back into my shoes I walk over to Caleb, Donnie already heading back to his car. 

"Everything alright?" I ask him, falling in step beside him as we follow our trainer’s path.

"He won't say, I'm pretty sure it's something to do with Madame Safiya though. He came out of his office in an extremely sour mood, course that could be because someone wasn't answering his phone." He smiles and glances at me from the corner of his eye, his head ducked and hands in his pants pocket. "What were you guys doing anyway?"

"Sparring." I answer, my mind busy contemplating what she could want now. I don't know what I'll do if she's decided to put me in another match and orders me to throw it again.

"Really?" His steps falter as he shoots a look over his shoulder. "And Harry was winning?" His tone is soaked in disbelief and I don't blame him, the chances of Potter actually being able to beat me being miniscule to none.

"Hell no." I grunt, deciding not to dwell on all the 'what if's'. I'll find out soon enough anyway.

"Then why were you..." He scratches behind his ear and trails off, clearly wondering why I was pinned under him then.

"Because he's a sneaky little blighter Caleb." I answer, not entirely comfortable with the question myself, the one glaringly obvious reason for my slip of control something I'm not willing to acknowledge.

 

Probably should have asked Caleb to train with me instead of him, I don't know what came over me. I'm supposed to be distancing myself from the Golden Boy, not looking for opportunities to see him. I scowl at the ground as I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out when my desperate desire to push him out of my life started to shift a fraction.

 

Maybe it's just gratitude.

He did heal me and look after me while I was recovering. And he's not nearly as difficult to be around once it started to sink into his thick head that I hate it when he does any sort of magic. Plus he hasn't tried to pry into my 'condition' since I woke up after the beating. Not that that means it's all of a sudden easy to be in his company, the man practically screams everything I want to shun away from - but it's not...terrible...either.

"Sneaky? How was I being sneaky?" Potter's voice startles me out of my thoughts and I glance over just as he's stepping up beside me, sending me a sly little smile. "I just think you're loath to admit that I was winning."

"Winning Potter?" I arch one eyebrow. "I think not."

"It's actually a bit impressive." Caleb speaks up from my other side and we both wretch our eyes from each other and over to him.

 "What is?" I ask skeptically.

Caleb looks at Potter and for once he's smiling while he does it, his normal barely suppressed expression of distrust nowhere to be found. "Harry managed to get you on your back, I've never even been able to that. Hell before Shen I've never seen you anywhere close to beaten before." He shrugs at my scowl and kicks at the ground.

"Ha! Admit it Draco, just admit it already." Potter laughs and I swear he's trying to get under my skin.

And what's with the friendly behavior between them all of sudden? The last time Caleb had dropped by they had been positively glaring daggers at each other from across the kitchen table. What, is Potter just particularity fond of making enemies and then turning them into friends? Does he get a thrill out of it or something?

Caleb repeats my name in confusion but I ignore him. "Potter, what did I say about pushing me?"

He leans a bit towards me and smirks. "I think I said that's exactly what I wanted to do."

"Watch it Harry." Caleb interrupts but Potter just keeps watching me, taunting me with his gaze. "Or you’re going to make him snap. I've only seen Dray really angry once and it did not go over well for the other guy."

That gets Potter's attention, his eyebrows pulling together in an incredulous look. "I'm sorry did you just say that you've only seen him angry once?" Caleb nods and Potter shakes his head. "But it's so easy..." He continues and that looks back in his eye that never bodes well for me.

I bite my tongue and pin him with a quelling gaze, he better not do anything, we are not seventeen anymore and if he tries...hell anything he used to do he's going to be in a world of pain.

Much to my delight Caleb actually laughs at that and maybe I shouldn't be happy that I've been so completely detached that getting any sort of rise out of me is deemed as near impossible by those who know me now. "Are you sure you're talking about Dray?" He asks, glancing between the two of us. "It's hard enough just getting him to hold a decent conversation unless you’re discussing fight tactics."

Potter stops and I nearly trip over him in the suddenness of it. "Seriously? You couldn't get him to shut up in school."

 "You guys went to school together?"

Potter nods and gives me a truly Slytherin worthy expression. Sneaky blighter indeed and I feel my heart slow. "Yeah he was a right bastard for most of it." He eyes me up and down and dear god he needs to stop doing that. "Course he wasn't so bad at the end."

"Potter." I say through clenched teeth, warning him not to go any further. When is he going to figure out that I don't talk about the past?

"You know." He continues, ignoring me completely and speaking directly to Caleb. "There's one sure fire way to get him furious, you-"

That's it, I will not stand here and let them keep discussing me as if I'm not right here, I will not let him stumble onto something that may send me crashing in a panic. So before he can spill his secret I grab his wrist, spinning him while yanking back on his arm until it's bent at a painful angle behind his back, my other arm catching him across his collar. I add just enough pressure to warn but not hurt as I hold him against me.

"Stop talking." I hiss but his muscles that had tensed on instinct during the attack melt like butter as my breath brushes over his ear and he drops his head back onto my shoulder, locking his gaze with mine - acting like this a perfectly normal and comfortable position to be in.

"So ignoring you still works huh?"

"What?" I tighten my grip, to hurt him or get him to shut up or to keep myself grounded I'm not sure but he grunts softly and the sound has the opposite effect it should.

"You never could stand being ignored or interrupted." He explains unnecessarily and I find myself dipping my fingers under the collar of his shirt and running them along the hem, pressing against the bump of the stitches as I feel myself slip just slightly.

Damn it, why do I get myself into these situations?

He's too close again and it's my fault and mine alone and I need to release him and push him away but I can't seem to stop pressing against the pucker of his shirt and he's looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind - his head actually tilting just a fraction to allow my fingers more room to run along the hem.

"Perhaps I did." I say once I feel under control of myself once more. "But neither did you." Letting go of his wrist, I drop my arm and push him softly away, sucking in a deep breath as quietly as I can as soon as he's out of my arms.

"That was…weird." Caleb mutters and when I look over at him, he's got a strange expression on his face. With a little shake of his head he turns and starts heading towards the car.

But Potter's still standing in front of me, blocking my path and I dare not move, uncertain where my legs will take me. "You alright?" He asks as he tugs his crumpled packet of cigarettes out and shakes one loose. "You were doing your...thing." He places it between his lips and lights it with muscles that know exactly how to flick and bend.

My thing. Nice way to put it. 

"I told you to stop asking me that." I try to sound stern and withdrawn but instead I find myself pulled into him as the wind picks up around us again, tossing his raven curls about his head - noticing the way his jaw clenches and relaxes around the cigarette, the light stains on the tips of his fingers that speaks of all the time he spends writing in that bursting notebook. The deep red lips he's always biting into, the way his voice picks up with the lift of his shy smile, and how his eyes crinkle and darken and tug at me...

And maybe it's because he spoke of the forbidden and I didn't fall, or the fact that I just held him and didn't feel myself drowning while being ripped apart, or maybe it's just the damn sun with its constant bloody breeze - but my fingers twitch and then move without my consent to catch a stray curl and brush it back.

Then my heart slams forward and plummets, my hand jerking back as if I've just touched a live electric wire, and I feel the stirrings of insanity curling its way towards me. And Potter's watching me with drifting eyes as his throat works visibly around words that aren't coming out and...

Fuck.

"I have to go." I say abruptly, sidestepping him and walking away like a coward. What the hell did I just do? Drumming out a quick rhythm on the back of my fist, I push down and down and down.

Cause I can't let it out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
 

  
  
"Put that on your face." Donnie tosses me an ice pack before settling his body that's screaming it's exhaustion into the creaky swivel chair.

"I've been icing." I tell him as I turn the frozen pack over in my hands, the unnatural blue glaring up at me. "It's nearly gone." I mutter, my stomach still unsettled from how I left Potter earlier. I'm not sure how I can face him again, how I can meet his eye and keep from ripping open.

"You doing alright?" He inquires, his cadence lifting and dipping with a tired concern as he watches me from across the desk.

My fingers sink into the icy gel, the plastic bouncing them back as I swallow thickly. God I hate this, it feels like I'm hanging by a thread over a cavern, everything around me - Madame Safiya, my allegiance to Donnie, the confusion that is Potter, and my own heavy mind - adding weight to a swinging knife. One more thing and it will cut and I will fall.

"Yeah, everything's healing perfectly." I try a smile that I know doesn't hold any joy or reassurance but it's all I can manage.

Donnie leans back and presses his fingers into a steeple, his gaze nailing me to the wall. "No, I mean with you. You've seemed...off lately." He pauses and tips his head. "And I don't think it’s just about the Madame."

How very astute.

I thoroughly abhor it when anyone can slip past my walls, or take a peek behind my masks and the fact that he's noticed means I'm not holding up as well as I thought. "It's just stress." I shrug and tongue the inside of my cheek, pushing against the healing tender skin.

Of course that's a lie and in actuality everything is coming apart bit by bit, unraveling beneath my feet and all I want is my life back.

I want the fight and the beat and the rhythm and the beauty and the tradition. I want the sky and the ground to be my only concerns.

I want to be solitary again.

Right?

Because that is me, I am not one for anything else, anything more. And I am perfectly happy with that.

But then...

There's bloody Potter and its been awhile since I touched him, since my hand slipped over his skin and through his hair but I can still feel his heat - no matter how long or hard I press my fingers into the fake ice, it doesn't leave. And I can still see his expression behind my eyelids, taunting me, nagging me, biting into me. He's invading me, turning me inside out and I can't stand it. He shouldn't still have this power over me, it's been seven damn years!

A frustrated growl escapes my throat as I toss the ice pack onto the desk, my fingers lifting to rub against my forehead and the headache that's forming. I should just force him to leave before it's too late. Before he shatters my walls completely and leaves me broken.

"I know you're a quiet man Dray and I respect that." Donnie says slowly, evenly, weighing each and every word before he speaks it. "I've known you for some years now, think of you as family really." He stops again, keeping his gaze on the desk and I'm not sure if it's for his benefit or mine but either way I'm utterly grateful for it. "Just if you want to talk...I'm here." This is the gentlest I've ever heard him, his voice usually gruff and demanding, but he's left all that behind.

 

Offering me an olive branch without any force attached.

My face softens as his tone, even more than his words, soak through me, my cheek falling to rest in my palm, my elbow propped on the armrest. Of course I can't confide in him even if I wanted to. Because he has no idea who Harry Potter is, hell he doesn't even know Draco Malfoy, so how in the world would I be able to explain fourteen years of rather complicated history? Even if I censored out all the magical element's it would still be near impossible.

"I'll keep that in mind." I answer and he nods quietly, the little office filled with the muted thuds from the gyms patrons. "So what did you need to talk with me about?"

His chair twists back and forth as he drums his fingers against the desk, his gaze flicking to the telephone sitting innocently on the corner edge for a moment. "Madame Safiya called." He rubs at the stiffness in the base of his neck and I can plainly see that he doesn't want to continue, doesn't want to tell me what she wanted. This can't be good.

"And?"

"She wants you at her club tomorrow night."

My hand closes tightly around the armrest as I wait for him to continue, to shed some light on the unusual request but he doesn't. He just watches me with his intense gaze, feeding me bits of information and gauging my reaction before continuing. But all that does is draw it out and I need to know the entirety of the situation and now.

"For a match?" I ask and while I'm not keen on another fight in that ungodly basement it's by far the best option for her wanting me there - any other reason holds only disaster.

"No." Donnie lets out a loud breath and pulls a bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer, snagging two glasses from within its depths as well. He fills them half full and pushes one across the table to me before picking up his own and throwing back nearly half of it in one go.

"Donnie," I say slowly, leaving the glass where it sits with its golden liquid sloshing back and forth. "Tell me now. What does she want?"

His wrinkled hand presses the tumbler into his sternum as he meets my eye once more. "To ensure her investment, she said. Apparently there are some people she wants to see you..." See me, not meet me, not witness my fighting skills. See. Like a piece of meat on display for appraisal. "Dray is there a contingent plan, in case you don't fight?"

 Contingent plan...oh god.

The memory of her lips on mine, her fingers digging into my jaw, her whispered threat all burst through me but they pale in comparison to the reminder of her first offer to repay my debt. And I know without a flicker of doubt that that is what this is about. She wants me there to show me off, to present me to wealthy clients as a potential purchase, to find out how much she could get for me.

But why? Why would she need to when we have agreed on the match in a few weeks? Unless it's like the fight in the basement, something meant to frighten me, torment me, remind me of her power and what she could very well do to me if I cross her. Maybe she just wants to watch me squirm or hear me beg. Or more chillingly, maybe she wants to do exactly as says, protect her investment, and make sure I'll make her money one way or another. The trouble is what will happen if I can pull in more money with my body than with my fists?

No, that can't happen, I won't believe it, won't let it.

Donnie's talking again, giving me instructions mixed with questions and reassurances, but it all slips through my ears like a thick swirling mass and I find myself shaking my head - my foot tapping rapidly.

I am not a tool.

That thought is the only thing sticking with me even though I know I should be paying attention but to no avail. The room narrows and I feel my chest squeeze tight.

I am not a toy!

Donnie's voice falls quiet and I find myself nodding in agreement, of what, I don't know but he's finished and I can't sit here any longer. The air rushes out of my lungs and I rise to my feet, walking with zombie like movements out of the office door and through the gym with my thoughts whirling as I'm sent with a disorienting tip into the spiral that leads only down.

My feet hit the sidewalk, my arms pumping at my sides as I run with a swiftness that ghosts my shoes over the pavement. I fall into its rhythm and cry out to the burn it creates in my lungs and muscles. I give myself to it, seeking its clarity. And with a pang I know, I know I have to go. I started down this path and despite my desire to be alone in it I know I am not.

There is Donnie and there is Caleb and I must have the victory.

 

So I will go to her bloody club, let her patrons lay eyes on her prized fighter, because as of now I have no concrete proof to believe she's backed out of our deal. Innocent until proven guilty as they say. But she's mistaken if she thinks I will bend over and allow her to sell me, to try it would be to find a knife slit across her precious throat.  
  

I round a bend and fly down the street, sweating in the late afternoon sun, following its retreat in the skyline. But then there's the issue of actually setting foot in a club...at night...when it's packed full, where hands touch without thought, drinks flow freely, and words slip from tongues dipped in sexual depravity. It's enough to send an entirely new panic through me and I push myself faster, my pounding steps drawing it back out before it can consume me.

I live by a very specific set of rules for a good reason and going would break a number of them. I know the horror that will await me, the panic that will take me, and I will be unable to reel myself back in while amongst the flood of darkness and bodies and sound. I will surely collapse from it and she will see and she will know and she will be pleased. She will smile with her red painted lips, tilt her delicate neck, and twist me further around her finger.

For as much as she loves and respects strength she is also a snake. And snakes cannot resist the lure of a hidden weakness.

I climb the three stairs without thought and before I've even consciously come to the conclusion of what I must do, I find I'm already here. The dingy door with its faded number boring into my sight as I heave, my heart racing and body humming with the high of running for so long at a full sprint. But now that I'm here I can't move, can't raise my fist to knock, and I feel frozen from the inside out.

But just like I needed his magic to heal me, I need him for this, because I can't let Madame Safiya know - can't let her witness me in that sort of state. And just as his healing cost me dearly, so will this, only I don't know what the price will be and I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to pay it.

Pushing through the torrents of thought I raise my hand to knock before I can talk myself out of it and listen to the deep bangs of my knuckles on the old wood. A moment later it's being pulled open, revealing a disheveled Potter - a question on his lips, his brow creased, a black pen shoved behind his ear.

"I need your help."

 


	7. Break My Walls

** Italics = flashback to Seventh year. **

  
  
  
_"Do you mind?"_

  
  
_"Mind what?" Potter furrows his brow and straightens his back, his hand stuck a fraction of an inch above the page of the book in my lap._

  
  
_I sigh and brush his hand away. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to read over other people's shoulders?"_

  
  
_"Yeah." He shoves his glasses up his nose from where there perpetually falling down and leans back over, jostling into my shoulder and causing me to scowl indignantly. "What’s this bit mean?" His index finger taps a paragraph towards the bottom that's situated next to a rather gruesome diagram._

  
  
_I shove him back with my elbow and snap the book shut. "Potter why don't you go back up to camp and do something productive or take a nap or talk to your boring little pals or whatever the hell you want but for the love of god STOP reading over my shoulder!"_

  
  
_He shifts around on the log we're perched on, his toes scattering little rocks in all directions and proceeds to ignore my demands. "Because it doesn't make any sense." His nose crinkles as he scratches at his scar. "I mean why would you want to melt all the bones from only the left side of someone's body only to reform them on the outside?" He asks, so clearly confused and slightly disgusted that I can't help but smile._

  
  
_I mean smirk. Yes smirk, I do not smile at Potter._

  
  
_"A number of reasons." I inform him, resigning myself to yet another afternoon of trying to explain the finer points of the Dark Arts to Saint Potter. I don't know why he keeps badgering me about it, he gets positively green after most of our discussions. Then again I am supposed to be helping him figure out a way to destroy the damn necklace, or horcrux as Potter finally explained after nearly four weeks of futile attempts and searching._

  
  
_I nearly punched him when he told me and I would have hexed him if he still didn't have my wand. A whole month wasted because he didn't deem it necessary to tell me something so completely important. Of course now that I know exactly what it is I'm supposed to be killing - because that's really what it is, not destroying but killing a piece of the Dark Lord - I'm nowhere near being any closer to an answer than I was a week ago._

  
  
_Much to Potter's, Granger's, and my own vexation._

  
  
_Weasley on the other hand is still mad at Potter for even letting me off his leash and telling me anything, let alone seeking my help. It's wonderfully funny and satisfying getting to see his face match his hair anytime Potter asks me a question or sits next to me. The man nearly combusted when he found me with his precious leader with our heads bowed over the same book and talking quietly before Potter burst out laughing._  
  
 

_ Then again I almost did too.  _

__

_I know I can have quite the witty sense of humor but I'd never heard him laugh at something I'd said before, you know what with all the scowling and hateful glares that he had always been to preoccupied with. After the initial shock I found I rather liked it._  
  
 

_ You know in a, it-was-a-bit-loud-and-like-sandpaper-but-sent-strange-little-shivers-down-my-spine sort of way. Or maybe that last bit was just getting to see that lovely red shade yet again on the weasel's face or the damn cold, I seriously hate winter. Yes I'm sure it actually had nothing to do with the way it lit up Potter's face.  _

__

_No it definitely did not._  
  
 

 _"Like what? Is it like some sort of torture?" He asks, the tips of his feet in constant motion, sending a clanking slide of rocks down the ledge of the ravine now._  
  
 

 _"I suppose so, I mean it wouldn't be an unlikely scenario but I believe that mostly it would be used for potion ingredients." I tell him, flipping the book back open and showing him a crude drawing of one of the many potion's that calls for such a thing. "Like this one."_  
  
 

_ He peaks over and grimaces. "That's disgusting Draco." _   
  

 

_ And that's another thing. He's taken to calling me Draco lately, not Malfoy, not Ferret Face, Draco. It went very suddenly from "see you Malfoy" when I went off to bed one night to "good morning Draco, could you pass me an apple please?" when I saw him the next morning - like he had a brain aneurism while he was sleeping and forgot that we don’t call each other by our given names. _

__

_ And I'm ashamed to say I had stared at him in a very un-Malfoy like manner for quite some time before snapping out of it and tossing him one of the apples, which he caught, promptly bit into, grinned, and turned and left. _

 

 _Weasley had actually choked when it happened, causing him to spill the weak tea he had spent the better part of the morning trying to brew all over himself. And that was why I found myself smiling over my morning mush and not for any other reason._  
  
 

 _"That's why it's called Dark magic Potter, it isn't supposed to be all fluffy and gooey." I snicker and almost fall right off the log when his shoulder smacks back into mine, an all too mischievous look in his eyes. "Stop it you maniac, you're going to give me bruises." I snap, glaring at him as I shove him back._  
  
 

_ He laughs, catching himself with one hand against the old decapitated tree. "Oh can't have that can we, what in the world would people think!"  _

__

_I've decided I do not like this side of Potter._  
  
 

 _It's almost...playful and that just will not do. I don't do playful, it's unbecoming. Besides when in the world did we become friends? And how did I miss it exactly? He's too sneaky, like a damn lion, one minute you think he's going to eat you alive, the next he's playing a good natured jostling war and calling you by your first name!_  
  
 

_ His elbow slips into my side and I let out a short but loud laugh before clamping my mouth shut and turning to glare daggers at him.  _

__

_He's staring back at me with wide incredibly evil eyes, a smirk twitching on his lips. He draws his elbow back and curls his fingers and I just know what he's going to try and do the bastard. "Don't you dare." I hiss._  
  
 

 _He grins and leans closer. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." His hand inches forward and I smack it away._  
  
 

 _"If you tickle me I will bite you Potter!"_  
  
 

 _"You'll bite me, what like we're three?"_  
  
 

_ I scoot a little further away from him as inconspicuously as I can, I do not like the expression over taking his features.  _

__

_Seriously was Gryffindor Tower filled with pillow fights and tickle wars because that most certainly was not what was going on in the Slytherin Dungeons! Plus we are not thirteen year old girls, the thick headed moron. "Yes bite but if you'd be so kind as to give me my wand back than I could do some serious damage if you come anywhere near me!"_  
  
 

 _"Well that doesn't give me a lot of incentive to return it now does it?" Potter asks but he's not backing down, instead he's positively leering now._  
  
 

 _"That's it, you are not allowed to drink anymore of Granger's Pepper Up potion it has obviously gotten to your head."_  
  
 

 _He laughs that stupid laugh of his and the wind must have picked back up because I have to resist a shiver suddenly. "Oh my god Draco are you scared? Have you never been tickled before?"_  
  
 

 _"Of course not!" I reply indignantly. "Such frivolities are beneath me."_  
  
 

 _"Frivolities? Not even when you were a kid? That's just sad." He asks and I narrow my eyes, daring him to further question me but instead he reaches out, grabs my arm, yanks me against him, and proceeds to tickle my opposite side._  
  
 

_ I let out a shriek and gasp for air between the hysterical laughs that are forcing their way out as I try to jerk myself free. Except his grip is like bloody iron and all the damn laughing is making me just wiggle around uselessly and double over and I will get him for this!  _

__

_"S-s-stooopp!!" I shout and with one final jerk mange to somehow knock us both backwards off the log, landing in a tangled heap with our legs bent and caught over where we had previously been sitting._  
  
 

_ "Get off me!" I snarl but I don't think it quite has its desired effect and maybe it has to do with the no doubt red flush on my cheeks that is glaringly obvious against my pale complexion.  _

__

_Red does not flatter me._  
  
 

 _A quick merciful killing would be too kind for him now. No, something extremely slow and tortuous is what he has coming._  
  
 

 _"You have to let go first." He says through his own laugh and why is being tossed off a log and being forced onto the cold dirty ground funny?_  
  
 

 _It's not._  
  
 

 _I glance down and realize that my hands are indeed twisted in his thick jumper, which only makes me madder at him. Unfurling my fingers, I press my palms flat against his chest and push him off. But with the odd angle of our legs he only manages to fall to the ground next to me, seemingly unaware or uninterested in the fact that he has dirt smudged all over him now as he winds his hands behind his head and stares up at the sky._  
  
 

 _He is planning on just lying here for the rest of the afternoon or something?_  
  
 

_ "You’re staring." He says suddenly, turning his head to look back at me. _   
  

 

 _"No I'm trying to light you on fire with the sheer force of my will." I push myself up onto my elbows to give him my best Snape impersonation, a perfect down the nose sneer. "You look ridiculous all covered in dirt."_  
  
 

 _He shrugs and before I even see it coming he's slapping his muddied hand against my face, running his slimy fingers down my cheek and over my jaw with a truly wicked grin._  
  
 

 _"I will kill you." I growl through the disgusting feeling of the mud sinking into my skin._  
  
 

 _"You threaten that a lot you know."_  
  
 

 _"And I mean it, just you wait."_  
  
 

 _"Aright, best extract my revenge while I still can then shouldn't I?" And I see it a split second too late, his horrendous fingers sliding through my hair, slicking it back with the foul mud._  
  
 

 _Mud in my HAIR!_  
  
 

 _Alright so I'm used to not being as clean as usual since coming on this little camping excursion but this is stepping over the line. Is he trying to make me snap? Does he have a bet with the weasel on how fast he can make me lose my sanity by humiliating me to no end, why else would someone tickle his sort of friend, sort of war partner, sort of prisoner?_  
  
 

_ I feel anger coil through me and fight the urge to immediately run back to camp and dunk my head in a bucket of water. "Potter I'm-" _   
  

 

 _"Going to bite me?" He cuts in while lifting his eyebrows, like he's challenging me to actually do it. "I'll just tickle you again if you try it."_  
  
 

 _I hate him, seriously, utterly hate him right now. "Like hell you will, I'll bloody hold you down first!"_  
  
 

 _His nose crinkles, again - seriously he smiles way to much these days, why can't he go back to only ever frowning at me? - as he grins, the very corner of his bottom lip pinned between his teeth. "Really now? Bit kinky don't you think?" Did he just make a sex joke?_  
  
 

 _Did the bloody Golden Boy, the Saint of all things good and righteous make a sex joke directed at me no less?!_  
  
 

 _I'm pretty sure my mouth falls open as my own words hit me like a Bludger, my mind suddenly flooding with images of pinning his arms to the ground as I sink my teeth into his tanned neck. I'd look like a damn vampire against that stupid golden flesh of his. My stomach does a funny little flipping thing that must be connected to the fact that it's well past lunch time. Because it can't possibly be due to the mental images and stray thoughts of what he might taste like or the way his eyes are sparkling up at me._  
  
 

 _Coming back to myself I quickly snap my mouth shut and no doubt would have pounced him - to hit him, yes hit him, not bite - if not for the cracking of a twig and scuffle of rocks._  
  
 

 _"Oh." Granger's soft exclamation pierces my ears and Potter's nasty hand falls from my hair, where he had still had it tangled in my ruined locks, how did I miss that? Was he trying to rub it in that he managed to smear me with the slimy stuff? "What happened?"_  
  
 

_ Potter tips his chin and smiles at his friend as I plot ways to destroy him in my head and definitely not thinking of anything else.  _

__

_"Draco's ticklish." He says as way of an explanation and how dare he tell her! It's bad enough he had the audacity to do it himself but to go around and spread the news is even worse. If the bushy haired bookworm so much as reaches for me I will hurl them both off the ravine._  
  
 

 _"Good to know." She says in a passive sort of way, almost sounding as if she can't quite figure out why Potter would care or want to tickle me in the first place._  
  
 

 _Well that makes two of us._  
  
 

 _Scrambling to my feet, I glower down at the blacked hair boy, the mud on his cheek somehow fitting on him whereas I no doubt look like a disastrous painting gone terribly awry. "Clean this off this instant you miscreant." I demand while gesturing to my face._  
  
 

_ "Oh but I think it looks quite fetching."  _

__

_I nearly stomp my foot in aggravation, seriously what has gotten into him? I think I prefer him when he's wearing the bloody necklace with his violent moods than this, because this makes no sense!_  
  
 

_ I nearly jump when I feel the sudden tingling of a cleaning spell run over my body, effectively dissolving the mud from every inch of me and when I look up it's to see Granger lowering her wand - her lips pressed tight like she's trying not to smile.  _

__

_"Making any progress Malfoy?" She asks, very diplomatically._  
  
 

 _Unlike the weasel she isn't completely against the idea of me helping and even grudgingly accepted that I have knowledge she herself does not. Now that was music to my ears to hear the little know-it-all finally admit it. She still mostly leaves me alone though, except for the occasional academic discussion and that is just fine by me._  
  
 

 _"No." I say, running my fingers through my hair to make sure no stray bit of mud was missed. "Someone kept interrupting me." I look pointedly at Potter as he rises to his feet, wiping at the smudge on his face only to further smear it. "Oh for heaven’s sake." I mutter as he continues to only make himself more disheveled in his attempt to clean up and I snatch his wand from his pocket, casting the spell quickly before the slacked jawed stunned look even has time to cross his face._  
  
 

_ And of course that is the moment Weasley appears, topping the crest to find me pointing Potter's own wand at him.  _

__

_He goes beet red with rage and the next moment I'm back on the ground with the air knocking from my lungs and the tip of his wand pressing into my throat. "You bastard!" He seethes, spittle splattering my face and can today get any more humiliating?_  
  
 

 _"Ron no, calm down! It wasn't like that!" Granger shouts as Potter's head briefly appears over his shoulder before he's dragging his best friend off me with great difficulty._  
  
 

 _"Then what the hell was he doing?!" He growls, pushing back away from Potter but not making any further move towards me as I gingerly get back to my feet._  
  
 

_ "They were muddy." Granger explains in a not so very helpful way and I send her an annoyed look.  _

__

_  Really that was the best she could come up with?  _

__

_And he was casting a cleaning charm." She tacks on lamely, her's and Potter's face both taking on a faint pink hue and what do they have to be embarrassed about?_  
  


_They weren't the ones tickled ruthlessly, smeared in mud, and then tackled by a raging red headed Gryffindor._  
  
 

 _"Why were they muddy?" Weasley screws his nose up, making him look like a squished radish and not at all cute like when Potter does it...not that Potter's cute, not at all, he's just not as ugly you know as the weasel, and oh hell._  
  
 

 _Who am I arguing with anyway? Myself? Oh that's just great._  
  
 

 _"Er..." Potter stammers and is very pointedly not looking at anyone, I swear he has multiple personalities - one for Granger, one for Weasley, like fifteen for me, one for the wizarding world at large, and one for battle._  
  
 

_ "You know what, never mind I don't want to know." Weasley spits and Potter grimaces a little, not so much that I don't think even Granger picks it up, but it's there and it tugs a bit at me. "Order wants to meet with us Harry, so tie him up and let’s go." He continues, pulling the tie that I haven't been forced to use for quite some time now out of his pocket and tossing it at Potter with a glare.  _

__

_ He proceeds to march angrily back towards the camp, Granger at his heels, her squeaky high pitched voice trying to reason with him. _

 

_ When I look back at Potter he's staring at the tie in his hands like he can't decide what to do. Maybe I should tell him and put him out of his misery because everyone knows I'm going to end up tied to the bloody table again for who knows how long.  _

__

_Or I can be pissed and yes I think that sounds much better. Without a word I turn on my heel and start down the hill, not stopping or turning or acknowledging the boy following behind me until we're marching past his lemmings and into the tent._  
  
 

 _"Draco -" Potter starts towards me as I stop at the head of the table, the terrible red and gold tie wrapped around his hand like he couldn't stop twisting it on our journey._  
  
 

_ "No." I say, crossing my arms over my chest and pinning him with a withering stare. He looks down and chews on his bottom lip, looking completely guilty.  _

__

_Good, he should. I have been nothing but cooperative lately thus I shouldn't be subjected to being chained again._  
  
 

 _"Look it's just for a while and it'll make Ro-everyone feel better." He tries to sooth it all over, catching himself a little too late in trying not to blame his friend. He takes another step towards me, unwinding the worn fabric from his fingers._  
  
 

 _"You are not tying me up with that again." I state, narrowing my eyes further with each step he takes. "It's utterly tasteless." I'm not sure why I added that, buying time maybe? But it's not untrue, it's incredibly ugly._  
  
 

 _He pauses and a sly smile curves over his lips causing my stomach to sink. "Tasteless?"_  
  
 

_ "Yes tasteless." I repeat, my feet sliding back until I bump into the table, my hands latching onto the ledge as I work on not letting my heart hammer in my chest. _

__

_What the hell is he thinking? He looks...I don't even know. I just know I don't like it. "All red and gold and good lord it's like looking at vomit." I say trying to regain the upper hand that I somehow lost. The question is how did that happen exactly?_  
  
 

 _"So your objection isn't so much about being tied up but about the color?" He cocks his head and stops right in front of me. "Does that mean you'd be totally fine with it if it was, say, a Slytherin tie?" He grabs my hand and before I can stop him he's winding the end around my wrist._  
  
 

 _"It would be a tad better at least." I snap. "Not quite as humiliating as being bound in Gryffindor colors. Why got a green and silver one on you?"_  
  
 

 _He laughs, his fingers securing a knot over the inside of my wrist. "No, but maybe I'll break into Malfoy Manor just to retrieve your uniform and keep you from further humiliation. We can deck you out from head to toe in your house colors and parade you in front of Ron." He motions for me to scoot onto the bench and I reluctantly comply as I try not to snort at the absurdity of his statement._  
  
 

 _"I do not parade about Potter." I watch as he taps the table with his wand and the hook reappears._  
  
 

 _He's quiet as he ties the end of material onto the hook and then casts the spell that will allow him and only him to remove it from either end. As his magic works itself into the fabric, a slight but pleasant jolt tingling up my arm, something abruptly clicks and my head spins as I try to grab at the thoughts surging forward. He says something but I don't hear it, barely register his sigh as he leaves because I've finally figured it out._  
  
 

 _I know how to kill the bit of soul in the locket!_  
  
  
  
    
****  
  
  
  


"So this lady, the one who's been making your life hell, wants you to go to her club tomorrow. And you don't really know why but you’re pretty sure it isn't for a fight, right?" Potter recaps what I've told him while sitting across his little table from me - looking even more confused now than when he first opened the door to find me panting and sweating and blurting out how I needed his help.

I nod and he leans further back, his fingers toying with his pen. "Okay so what do you want me to do?"

"I need you to come with me." I say, watching the pen flip between his fingers, noticing the exact moment before it stills.

 "Why?" He asks no doubt thoroughly confused due to the fact that I'm usually telling him that he can't come.

This is the hard part and one I really don't want to do.

 

Threading my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath and push myself headlong into the conversation. "Because there’s the possibility that I may not be able to control my panic attacks by myself while I'm there." I say, hoping he'll catch on and I won't have to spell it out.

 

He rubs a hand over his chin and it's no use, I'm going to have to go into detail, I can tell already just by the expression on his face. "And you think I can help with them somehow?"

"You've done it before." I point out and catch the memory flick across his eyes. "Look I can normally handle them fine, it’s just..." I shut my eyes and try to piece my thoughts together into a coherent string but it's coming together with great difficulty as I've never had to explain my internal process before. "Sometimes if I have a really bad one then I lose track and I can't concentrate on my counting or keep any rhythm and that's when I need something external, something that's beyond my control but that's...."

Dear lord this is hard to put into words and it makes me sound completely insane. Who knows maybe I am. "Like your heartbeat. It had a beat, it had rhythm, it was consistent, but I didn't have to rely on myself to keep it. Does that make sense?"

 

"Kinda." He says and when I open my eyes, he's blowing out a stream of smoke and watching me carefully. "So you want me to go and intervene in case you can't control it?" I nod again. "Okay but how? You want me to do the whole heartbeat thing again?"

  
"No, that's too obvious." I mutter, knowing that Madame Safiya would pick up on that blatantly strange behavior. "It needs to be more subtle, I can't have anyone knowing."      

  
"What if I counted for you?"

  
I almost laugh at that, because it just all sounds so outlandish. "That won't work." I'm not sure how I know that for sure, I just do, but god do I wish it was as simple as Potter doing some addition in my ear.

 "Then how?" He sounds a bit frustrated and the problem is that I don't know. It's not like I've done this before.

I take a deep breath and go back to staring at the pen in his hand, to the way his fingers know how to flip it without him even having to think about it - just like casting a spell or catching a snitch or throwing a punch.

It's all practice.

"We'll just have to try a few ways out." I say evenly, almost tonelessly, keeping myself as detached from my own words as I can for the moment. This is one thing I never thought I'd have to practice. One thing I never wanted to.

"You mean you want to give yourself an attack just so I can try and figure out how to calm you down?" He asks in a disbelieving cadence. "I don't know about this Draco." He stabs his cigarette out and leans against his arms on the table, studying my face and trying to read behind the obvious.

"I don't have much of a choice." I force myself to keep his gaze, to not look away or back down, to gather all my strength and let it well up in this exact moment. It flows through me and as it set its own pace, I reveal in it just like it's any other exercise, any other preparation for a fight. I let him see it, opening myself up as much as I dare, urging him to connect with it and understand - I appeal to his desire for heroism because all these years later and he's still the same noble Gryffindor.

He breathes deeply and blinks his green eyes, chewing on his lip. "What if I can't do it?" He shakes his head and looks away. "I don't want to see you like that again. I can't take it."

"Potter, I..." My voice drops off as I feel myself fill with doubt, with an urging to just leave, a corner of my mind yelling at me for even thinking of seeking help. I've been alone and managed this long but now...now I don't know.

Ever since I saw his bright gaze watching me in the ring everything has flipped upside down and I have a feeling I won't survive without more than I can give myself. I need him and it's scary as fucking hell. Depending on others never ends well.

"How do we do this then?" His voice is sudden and quiet and determined, saving me from having to say it out loud, from having to beg. Because that is who he is, Harry Potter, a savior - whether you want him or not.

I let out a nervous little chuckle and glance around the room, suddenly finding it hard to look at him now that he's agreed to my plan. That's a good question, how do we go about sending me into an uncontrollable fit, into such a state that I can't real myself back in? There are three things that rise quickly to mind that I know will plummet through me with enough force and one of them I'm not willing to go near, leaving just two. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I count through the initial waves of trepidation at the thought of enduring them, of asking for them.

 "Magic." I start quietly before clearing my voice and gathering up my resolve, reminding myself that a few moments of pain may prove lifesaving in the long run.

"Okay, like what?"

 "I don't know, lock and unlock the bathroom door for all I care." My tone is a bit too hard, a bit too defensive but I can't stop it, can't help it, my tension releasing in my words.

I can actually feel him hesitate, nearly hear his churning thoughts. "And that's it?"

I swallow thickly and try to think of another option, of another way to slice into me but nothing comes and I feel my heart slow and stop for a long unearthly moment. "Touch me."

"What?" His gaze feels like fire as his head snaps up, his hands going still on the tabletop.

 "A combination of magic and touch Potter should do the trick." I reply as evenly as I can and raise my weary eyes to his and that was a mistake - he looks heartbroken and nearly close to a panic himself, a silent desperation on his face.

  
"Draco...why would me touching you give you a panic attack?"

  
"Just trust me." I bite my tongue and try to ignore the emotions rolling off him in a quiet storm.

  
"I want to know why." He insists. "I touched you earlier today and you were fine." He points out and I push out of my chair, knowing he'll just keep pressing and pressing until he's wiggled his way inside my locked box and I can't have that.

  
"That was different." I tell him, grabbing his hand that's unnaturally hot and slightly sweaty and tug him out of the chair. "We were sparing." I guide him towards me, my breath getting trapped in my chest as I turn my back to him, knowing that having to face him during this process will only make it so much harder.

  
His fingers trail gingerly, uncertainly down my arms, with a gentle pressure that somehow seems so much worse than any rough touch could be.

"What happened Draco?" He asks softly and I shake my head, breathing in his scent and feeling the first strands of nerves curl up me. His arms wind around me and I'm suddenly and completely trapped. "What did they do to you?"

  
"Stop it Potter." I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my nails into his forearms, feeling a sinking pit open up beneath me and he hasn't even started casting yet.

But he doesn't have to, no the git is switching tactics unknowingly, pulling out the trump card that I didn't want to touch.

 

"No, you're going to tell me." He speaks directly into my ear and my knees buckle and tremble. "Because I don't want to do this, I don't want to be the reason you fall apart." His voice cracks, his arms tightening, his body a mass of taut muscles against me.

 

"I can't." The words come out in a rush of air as my thumb runs up and down his skin, in a rhythm of soft and hard, press and bite, even though I know I shouldn't be trying to control it myself. That the whole reason we're doing this is for him to figure out a way to help me - but I can't stop, my body refusing to break without trying my hand at it first.

 

But he doesn't listen, doesn't heed my warning and continues to speak with each sound brushing across my skin and sending shivers spiked with pain down my body. "You were gone for three months and then when we finally found you, you disappeared all over again and now...now you can barely look at me." He turns me in his arms, one of his hands brushing against my cheek. "You don't smile, not really, you’re too quiet, hell you even walk different."

 

"It doesn't matter." I croak, my throat suddenly hoarse as all the memories he's trying to drudge up come flooding against their lock, pressing violently against it in a desperate attempt to break free.

 

He makes a noise of frustration that vibrates in his chest and through me. "Yes it does, because you're not you anymore and the block I came across, did they have something to do with that?" He pleads, trying to meet my resistant gaze. "Draco will you let me..." He trails off and I don't fully know what he's asking but I find myself nodding despite my better judgment. 

 

Maybe it's to convince myself that he knows nothing, that it's still my secret and mine alone.

  
He grabs my hand, turning it over in his until it’s lying face up. I dare not move, the fear that's teetering me on the edge of ruin keeping me still as he runs three fingers from the veins on my wrist up to the tip of my fingers.

My heart slams into my rib cage and I jerk forward like a marionette on strings, drawn to the power he's drawing out and up. He reaches out and braces me with his other hand as his voice starts low and deep, his words a smooth slippery surface that I get lost in as I feel a burning heat spark at the tip of my fingers where his are still pressing. Then he traces his middle finger back to the center of my palm and I see a faint blue glow gather under the single digit, terror seizing me.

  
"Harry." I rasp, his name slipping past my lips with urgency as my fingers dig into his hair, gripping the coarse curls hard and feeling my jaw tremble. He looks up and his eyes meet mine, the blue light rising between us.

  
His forehead presses to mine as I sink further, his magic trying to pry its way through me. "Stop fighting Draco." He whispers. "Just let go."

  
I close my eyes against his intense green and shake my head. "No." I gasp, because he's asking me to open up and fall.

But what he doesn't know is that to fall would be to lose my grip on everything and despite his best efforts he wouldn't be able to catch me, it would only open a spiraling abyss in which I would tumble forever.

  
"Look at me." He says and I pull on his hair, using it as lifeline to keep a semblance of balance as he continues to wind and spread and seek through me in an effort to unravel the puzzle, the steadiness of his tone commanding my eyes back open. "It will be okay."

  
"You don't know that." My voice shakes and then I'm crying out, falling against him as my mind feels like its ripping open.

__

_ Rounded walls of soft earth, a plunging pit with specks of light, smooth sounding tones crackling with madness."I've seen your soul Draco, I've seen what's lain within it, and it shall rise again even if I have to rip you apart and build you back up piece by piece..." _

  
Then in an instant that seems to stretch through all eternity I feel something shatter within me with the force of a volcano erupting.


	8. Dominate the Things I see

 

  
  
I look the same.

 

My face has nearly healed completely - only a slight brushing on my cheek bone marring my features, my platinum hair styled in messy tousled waves that brush just over my eyes before being flicked away. I'm still tall and slim with defined muscles over every inch of my body, my hands are still slight but with long bending digits, my feet still planted on solid ground and currently covered in fine black boots. My eyes are still gray with the same guarded mist hovering over them and my mouth is still dark pink and set in a hard line.

Nothing's changed. Nothing I can see anyway.

But something's different, I know that with every fiber of my being. Something broke yesterday while Potter held me and focused his magic on shattering through me. I had felt it erupt and spread until I couldn't stand on my own and he had to sink to the ground with me in his arms as wave upon wave rose to a maddening high then fell right out of me. But there isn't a word for it, not even a coherent thought, I just...know.

Logically I assume it must be the block Potter kept talking about but if it's gone then why don't I feel drastically different? And if it's been broken than why am I still sane? Why did the voices recede back into their box as Potter's spell came to a close? Why did my panic drift away with just the sound of his voice and press of his fingers along my spine? Shouldn't that have had the opposite effect?

Nearly a full day later and I'm only more confused, the mystery only expanding and deepening as I'd walked back home and tried to fall asleep. Instead I had lain awake, staring at the ceiling and feeling...nothing. There was no fear picking at me, no need to count or reach out and run my fingers over whatever they came in contact with. My mind was strangely quiet.

It still is.

And I don't know what to do with it, my thoughts feeling oddly light and thin and I keep expecting to fall into madness or for the heaviness to reenter my being - but it doesn't. So what the bloody hell happened?

There's three quick knocks sounding from my door and with a sigh and one last glance at myself in the bathroom mirror - I push away my contemplation and make my way across my flat. There's no more time to stare silently at my reflection because tonight I must attend Madame Safiya's club and I know that will be the true test of the shift inside me.

I pull the door open to reveal a smiling Potter, dressed in a plainly expensive dark green button up shirt and black slacks, his entire appearance perfectly tailored except for his hair - the raven curls refusing to be tamed in any sort of way.

"Hey." I greet him simply.

"Wow." He says as he eyes me and I glance down at myself in mimic of his own gaze.

It would not do to show up at her club under dressed so I had pulled out my one rarely used nice outfit - a white button up, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows with a black vest thrown and buttoned up over it, and a simple but elegant pair of black trousers. It is neat and handsome and plays perfectly against my own features - and if I had needed any reassurance in my choice, Potter's expression is very clearly giving it.

"Hair wouldn't cooperate?" I drawl, leaning against the door frame and smirking at him when his eyes travel back up to mine.

He tosses me a lopsided grin and paws at his head self-consciously. "Does it ever?" 

"Apparently not. Are you ready?" I ask and he nods as I step out into the hallway with him, pulling the door closed behind me.

He fidgets beside me as I pull my key from my pocket and proceeds to mess up his hair even more with a distracted hand. "So how are-"

"Potter." I glance at him from the corner of my eye as I click the lock into place. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence."

"Oh come on." He grumbles. "You could barely walk straight when you left last night, you can't fault me for being concerned and curious."

"Well I can walk just fine now." Turning down the hall, I do my best to ignore his imploring gaze, his bright eyes trying to draw the answers from me. Well he can try all he likes but I can't tell him because I don't bloody know myself yet what happened exactly. What was he expecting, a detailed analyses of my body’s genetic make-up and how it’s shifted from whatever the hell he did?

 "I can see that." He appears at my side and slips in front of me, his back to the building's exit, stopping me in my tracks with no forward escape. "Just give me something please?"

 "Alright." I mutter and lean forward, placing my palm against the door he's leaning on near his ear. "I'm tired." And with that I give the slightest push and suppress a snicker as the door swings open and he nearly falls to the ground. He catches himself against the frame and instead of the indigent frustration at my lack of any real answer and basically pushing him over, when he looks back up at me it's with a giddy grin. I will never understand his moods and what brings them on. 

"What are you grinning at?"

"Nothing." He spins on his heel and starts down the street, leaving me to stare after him for a moment before pulling myself out of my thoughts and trailing after him with unhurried steps, my hands that feel too steady shoved in my trousers pockets.

It's a strange sensation, the skin covering my fingers and palms feeling oddly tight and practically humming with some unknown force. I had never really noticed how wound and severed my nerves always felt before now or maybe I had just gotten so used to it that I simply no longer noticed - believing it to be normal, how it should be. This calm feels so unnatural that it's making me itch and pulls at my mind with such an unending string of questions that I nearly walk straight into Potter - his hands suddenly appearing on my chest and keeping me from bowling him over.

 "Lost in thought?" He asks and when I glance up from my shoes it's to see an amused expression pulling at his face.

"Mhmm?" I take half a step back, his hands falling from me and to his sides.

 "You almost knocked over that little girl." He informs me and grabbing my hands tugs me next to a building as a group of loudly speaking young men breeze past us. "You had your thinking face on."

I furrow my brow and press closer to the building, sinking away from the rambunctious huddle. "My what?"

"You know your, I'm contemplating something very serious and difficult so don't you dare interrupt me Harry or I'm going to slap you, look."

Shaking my head, I push away from the wall now that the sidewalk is once more clear and scowl at him. "I do not have one of those."

"Oh yes you do, I should know." Potter insists and falls right into step beside me with a chuckle.

We round the corner and squeeze our way onto a crowded bus, effectively cutting off any further conversation as we're bumped and jostled down the street - the stench of unwashed bodies and dirt clinging in the muggy air. Holding onto the railing above my head I concentrate on not pitching over with each turn and holding my breath as best I can for the several long minutes it takes before we reach our stop.

We tumble back onto the sidewalk in a wave of people and two blocks later the club is suddenly looming ahead of us, filling my vision and making me stop in my tracks. The music is pumping out onto the street, the dim interior filled to a swelling boil of people and in a matter of seconds I have to pick up my feet and walk inside, have to let her clients 'see' me, have to stand amongst the thunder and not collapse. I gulp and feel Potter nudge my shoulder with his own, drawing my gaze and attention over to him.

"Nervous?" 

 I nod before I can think better of it, realizing with a growing anxiety that we never figured out a way for him to help me last night. And it may be that I won't need it, that whatever broke took my attacks with it and left me with this eerie numbness, but I can't know for sure - walking inside is a gamble now.

"I thought of something this morning." He says and I blink to clear away the tremulous thoughts. "Here," he takes one of my hands and presses my fingers over the inside of his wrist where his pulse is light but steady, giving me a moment to let it sink in before grabbing my other hand and placing it under his jaw where the thump is slightly more pronounced and warm. "It's more discreet right. Do think it would work?"

I watch my fingers, pale against his darker skin, how they could easily be mistaken for a light caress or a cupping of his cheek to any on looker - my hand on his wrist bent in a way that could be used to pull him closer. It's intimate but not glaringly strange, nothing about it calling adverse attention, except perhaps to those who really know me.

"Draco...? Is this, will it work maybe?"

I snap back to myself and fight a flush as I realize I've been staring at him for quite some time with my thumb brushing down his jaw line. Pulling my hands back and shoving them in my pockets as my mind works around the fact that my heart in pounding but not in painful way, my hands are still with no urge to tap, and there are no number's flying through my thoughts. I feel steady.

"It might." I finally reply, my response coming much too late and making his nose and brow crinkle in curiosity. "And remember not to call me Draco okay."

"Alright." He smiles and starts walking backwards. "Ready then?"

Following behind him, we make our way through the darkened doorway, our ears immediately accosted with a thick and sultry dance beat as we slip through the dense crowd. I keep my eyes glued to the back of Potter's head and push outwardly with all my mental power against the unknown bodies, as I try to remember where I need to go. Am I supposed to find Madame Safiya or will she call me if she deems fit? I really should have paid more attention to Donnie's instructions.

"Is that Caleb?" Potter stops and points over to the bar, my eyes following its direction.

"Yes." I say as I spot him perched on a bar stool, his sultry smile lighting his face as he bends and speaks to a woman with deep purple hair. He's dressed in a simple red tee-shirt that fits nearly like a second skin and a pair of loose jeans that dip on his hips, making an appealing contrast. He's drastically under dressed and yet somehow doesn't seem out of place, adorning the outfit with such a natural ease that no one would give it a second thought or sneer.

I glance around hoping to catch a glimpse of Donnie but he's nowhere to be seen. Taking the lead, I cut a path straight for Caleb, and tip my chin up in a slight nod to him when he glances up and meets my eye. He leans towards the woman, his fingers brushing lightly down her arm before he pulls away and comes to meet us.

"Now this is a sight I'd thought I'd never see." He smiles and I find myself being appraised quite blatantly for the second time tonight and I have to fight my legs from shifting uneasily under it. 

 

"How come I've never seen this look before?"

"Not much need of it." I say with an unconcerned air, my gaze in constant motion as I try to spot my trainer. "Donnie here?"

"Always right to business." He grumbles and nods his head towards the booths in the far corner. 

"Come on let’s get a seat. She sent for him soon after we arrived, they’re in the balcony, said he'd come find us when they’re done."

I angle my eyes up as discreetly as I can as we follow Caleb to a table, the balcony overlooking the main floor lit in such a way that all you can see is a deep darkness when looking up at it. There's no making out anyone in those shadows, the notion sitting heavily inside me as I slip into the booth on the opposite side of Caleb - Potter sliding in beside me, making what might as well be a wall between me and the mass of people, allowing my nervousness to ease a little.

A girl in a scandalously short skirt leans into our table and I'm vaguely aware of drinks being ordered and Caleb's deep timber rising above the storm of sounds and Potter's knee brushing mine but my eyes are seared to the impenetrable black of the balcony, my foot tapping without conscious thought. I don't know what tonight will hold, can't even fathom a guess, and the not knowing is eating at me.

"I guess I could, it's been awhile though. So why do you call him Draco?"

My given name spilling from Caleb's lips draws me back to the present and everything seems to speed up for a split second as I realize I'm holding a glass of dark beer I don't remember ordering or even grasping, and there's an empty glass to my left that must be mine. With a beat of disquiet, I glance discreetly at the watch on my wrist and have to bite my tongue against a curse as I realize we've been here an hour already.

"What?" I ask, lifting the glass to my lips and taking a drink of the thick bitter liquid. I catch Potter eyeing me carefully and I wonder if he's noticed my lapse and strangely the realization that he's still sitting there and has been the entire hour I don't recall passing is like tossing a sopping blanket over a kindling fire.

"I was talking to Harry." Caleb stretches his arm out across the back of the booth and settles against the seat like he's made to be here, perfectly at home. "He called you Draco yesterday. That means Dragon right? Was it your former fighter name?"

"No." I mutter, not at all liking the way my name sounds coming from him for some reason. Maybe I'm just so detached from it now, it would make sense, seeing how it was even strange hearing Potter say it the first couple times.

 

Potter casts me a sideways glance and after noting that I have no intention of delving further into the topic, sets his own glass down and sends Caleb a smile. "It was a nickname when he was a kid." He lies smoothly and my foot stops its motion and presses flat, curious to hear his made up explanation. "He wasn't exactly the nicest of blokes when he was younger, liked to sneer down his nose at you and all."

 

I snort and rest against the seat. "Oh like you were any better, I still the have the scars to prove otherwise."

"Scars?" Caleb glances between us and Potter just shrugs casually. "You sure you guys were friends?"

"Yes Potter." I say turning to face him and watching the dim lights play through his green eyes. "You sure about that?"

A slow sly smile curves his lips and I suddenly wish I hadn't taunted him, even if it was barely noticeable, I have no idea what came over me. "I could prove it if you'd like." He threatens and I have to swallow around a sudden lump in my throat.

"How would you do that?" Caleb asks and I can feel him watching me as I glare silently at the man next to me.

"He's not going to." I interject, knowing that anything he could reveal as proof wouldn't be something I'm willing to become public knowledge.

"Now see, this is what I'm talking about." Caleb explains with an air of wonder. "Either he has a shit tone of dirt on you or you can't stand his guts. And what’s with calling him Potter? He doesn't call you Evans."

Potter snickers at my last name and I bite the tip of my tongue, not at all liking the direction this conversation is heading. Why is Caleb so interested in our history all of a sudden anyway?

"Now that's a good question." Potter draws his finger around the edge of his glass and lifts an eyebrow in my direction. I simply stare back at him, refusing to answer, to let this course of topic continue in this way. "You're so stubborn you know that right?"

"He's got a point Dray." Caleb laughs then slaps his hands down on the table. "That's it, we're doing shots, gotta loosen you up, and when I get back Harry’s going to tell me all about you as a bastard teenager." And with that he slips from the booth and pushes his way through the stream of people towards the bar.

"Welcome back, where'd you go?" Potter asks as soon as Caleb's out of earshot.

So apparently he did notice. "Just thinking." I mutter and drum my fingers across the table. "What were you two talking about?"

"Him a little bit, me a little bit, but mostly about you. You've got quite a fan in him." Potter tilts his head and stares right back at me. "By the way, what's going on between you two?"

"What?" I start in confusion.

"Oh come on Draco I know you're not that dense." He glances down at my fingers, the corner of his mouth turning down into a small frown. "You doing alright?"

Annoyed but not altogether sure of the reason, I abruptly stop my drumming and wave my hand dismissively in the air. "Yes I'm fine, now what are you on about?" He lets out a breath of relief, the lines of his shoulders softening and I realize how nervous he had been. Do my attacks really affect him that much?

"What's between you and Caleb?" He asks again and I don't even know how to answer that. What is he implying? "Were...are you guys...?" He lets the rest hang like a heavy taut rope between us and I can't stop my eyes from narrowing in puzzlement as my tongue runs over my top teeth.

 Where in the world did he get that idea? "Don't be idiotic Potter."

"I'm not." He huffs and takes a drink from his glass. "He obviously likes you."

"That's absurd, we are partners in training and that's it." I say flatly. "Besides he's straight." I point out, remembering all the women I've seen him with.

"Bi maybe." Potter counters. "You know, swings both ways."

"I know what it means." I hiss and why is this upsetting me so much? Why does it matter that Potter thought there was something going on between us? Why does it sit so uneasily at the idea that Caleb may have more on his mind than I ever thought he was capable of? And why is Potter looking at me like that? And above all why in the name of god did he think now was a good time to bring it up? "And you have no idea what you’re talking about."

He shrugs and I glance towards the bar where Caleb is leaning against the long high counter. "If you wanted him, you could have him." He mutters and pauses as I watch the back of one of the only men I've let get even marginally close to me in the past seven years. "Do you?"

"No." I reply automatically, a romantic entanglement the furthest thing from my mind the entire time I've known him. Except is that completely true? He is indeed handsome and there was his smile, the one that always hurt to look at too closely because...I shift my gaze back to Potter, his mouth red and worried from his teeth and…shit.

Just...shit.

 

He catches my eye and smiles, the damn smile that's been plaguing me for all these years, and I find myself almost wishing for an attack. Because while horrible, they have been a substantial part of me and I know them, know how to navigate through them and come out tall. Numbers that I've clung to for so long rise in my mind, my fingers trailing over the back of the seat, all in an attempt to sever myself from the emotions trying to draw me in. But it's not working and I only find my heart beating faster and why aren't I falling?

What the fuck is happening to me?

Why do I want to spin? God what is wrong with me?

Then Potter's muttering my name with concern and dear god he thinks I'm going under but I can't open my mouth to tell him that that isn't it. I just keep counting and feeling the rubbery fabric and before I know it he's scooting closer and drawing my hand up to his face. I don't know why but I find myself pressing my index finger against his pulse point, the rest splaying across his cheek, and what am I doing? Why do I keep wanting to touch him, it's like out on the sidewalk all over again. This feels wrong, I know it is but I can't stop, my other hand rising to mimic my hold on the other side of his face. His lips part just barely and they attract my gaze like magnets and I feel my stomach churn in a nearly forgotten way. 

And I need to pull back, need to let go, need to stop fucking staring at his mouth because I am not his and he is not mine.

With movements that are far too jerky to be natural, I rip my hands away and immediately turn to grab my drink, gulping down the acidic beer in long swallows. I can feel him watching me and know I must look like a lunatic, my hands wanting to shake as I try to draw out Potter's heat from my fingers and into the frosted cup.

Maybe I got my wish after all, just with a different kind of attack than I'm used to.

Potter opens his mouth and I want nothing more than to sink into the seat cushion and disappear but then Caleb's sliding back into the booth with three shot glasses clasped in each hand and I'm saved for the time being. He doesn't notice the flush on my cheeks in the dim lighting or the awkward energy flowing between us as he deals out two shots to each of us.

He claps one in his hand and holds it up and I find myself lifting my own as I try not to appear like I'm raging inside, the clink of our three shots ringing softly as we touch them together than tip them back. The tequila burns a liquid fire and I gasp softly, unused to throwing back spirits in such a manner.

"Alright!" Caleb nearly shouts, flipping his empty shot upside down on the table. "Story time." He grins and I hear Potter shift and chuckle beside me.

"What do you want to know?" Potter asks, pushing his own dry shot away till it slides harmlessly into the center of the table before pulling out his smokes.

Caleb looks at me with an expression of exaggerated contemplation and I can’t help but notice the spark in his gaze that seems oddly familiar. God could Potter be right, is he interested in me? "I don't know...whatever comes to mind first." He finally says.

A flame bursts in the corner of my eye and tries to draw my gaze back to where there's a bright red cherry burning. "First one huh..." Potter repeats and turns to me with a soft curl of smoke. "Well he used to be rather vain, always very well put together and all that, he practically bit a girls head off one time for messing his hair up in class."

"That was Pansy." I pipe in, bristling slightly. "And she deserved it, the delusional tart wouldn't stop fawning all over me during po-cooking class." I mutter, my muscles tightening at the near slip. That never happens to me, the art of keeping the magical bits of my past concealed normally coming with a flowing grace.

Potter nods with a funny little laugh. "Gods yes, she couldn't keep her hands off you." He mutters and I'm rather surprised he noticed that. "Anyway one of my best friends became obsessed with taking photographs. She would seriously take them constantly for a spell, it was actually rather annoying." He pauses and lets his gaze sink into his own memory, tugging me along with it. "We were on an, er, camping trip that had ended up lasting much longer than we had expected. So one morning Dray woke up with his hair sticking all over the place, wearing clothes nearly two sizes too big for him, dirt all over him from sleeping on the ground and that's when she decided to take his picture. He went into a right fit." His nose crinkles as he looks back at me and I clench my jaw from pointing out a few finer details of the story that he's glazing over, like who was on the ground with me in the photo for one. "He nearly broke her camera and didn't Ron end up in the pond at some point too?"

This is the first story that comes to his mind? Is he trying to push me to the edge? "Yes." I say curtly, remembering all too clearly the incident he's speaking of. "But it was you who pushed him in if I recall."

"You sure?" He asks and the images rise unbidden in my mine mind like a silent movie.

I nod and shift in my seat, wishing for a moment that he was sitting on the opposite side of the table. "And I didn't nearly break her camera because I'm vain Potter."

"Then why?" He flicks ash from the tip and bites the tip of his tongue and is that why he decided to tell this story out of the hundreds he could have told that would have had better entertainment value? Sneaky indeed.

I let my gaze slide lazily to him for a moment before smirking and shrugging one shoulder. "Besides it was your entire fault really."

"How was it Harry's fault?" Caleb queries.

"Oh because they didn't really like him." Potter explains not very helpfully, Caleb's confusion only growing. "And that is a long story." He says with a laugh at the puzzlement on the other man’s face.

"I don't know." Caleb leans forward and sends the last two shot glasses towards us as he takes up his own. "You sure you're getting your stories straight? I can't even begin to picture Dray like that, next thing you'll be telling me is how good a dancer he is." He chuckles at his own joke.

"He is." Potter states the second after Caleb and I flood our mouths with the alcohol and then proceeds to smile at my glare and tips his own back as Caleb nearly chokes on his.  

"You’re joking." Caleb sputters and I hear myself hiss through my teeth.

Potter eyes me for a second and I can see the idea take shape in his mind seconds before he's speaking it. "See for yourself." He says sweetly with a nod towards the throng of dancers, like it's a completely normal request, even though just the thought of it is enough to make me sick.

"When hell freezes over Potter." I glower and drain the rest of my beer, the mixture of hops and spirits settling in the pit of my belly in a smooth fire that's licking its way up my body. I don't typically drink and I can't even remember the last time I had had this much, not even completely sure why I've been indulging. It's like a bloody reflex, Potter says or does something that smacks at me and up comes the drink.

"I have to see this, come on Dray, one dance?" Caleb is nearly bouncing in his seat with energy, his somewhat calm demeanor that usually accompanies him to the gym seemingly having melted away for the evening.

"It will have to wait." Donnie appears beside him with a drawn expression and a deep breath, his eyes immediately fixing on me. "She's ready for you."

I never thought I'd be relieved to be summoned by her but at the moment her cool sadistic streak sounds much easier to contend with then with the two men at my table. I nod and after a seconds hesitation Potter scoots out so I can exit the booth after him. "Any advice?" I ask just as I would before any match where the opponent may pose a challenge.

"Not this time." Donnie mutters. "We'll be waiting for you when you're finished."

I turn with a nod, fixing my face with a muted reserve that leaves nothing to be read. Straightening my vest and thumbing the collar of my shirt before carding a hand through my hair, I ascend the steps leading to the balcony. The top is flanked with two guards on either side of the gauzy curtain and they nod me through without so much as a word. Sucking in a deep breath and commanding my nerves to stay put, I step through the fluttering material.

"Ah Mr. Evans so good of you to join us." Madame Safiya's voice floats through the mildly filled room and I purposely allow my gaze to land on her and her alone. She's sitting on the edge of a straight backed wooden chair, her ankles crossed delicately, her hands free of drink, her blue eyes as sharp as ever. 

"Good evening Madame." I reply cordially and stand with my feet braced apart, hands behind my back where I can feel my finger nails digging into the sensitive skin of my wrist.

"Care to take a seat?" She smiles and gestures to an empty chair situated between a squat woman with wine stained lips and a tall man whose arm is draped possessively over the back of the seat intended for me.

I succeed in not showing my disgust and even manage a polite smile in return. "I prefer to stand thank you."

"Suit yourself." Safiya shifts on her chair and glances to the edge of the balcony, my gaze following unbidden and with a sinking unease I realize she has a perfect view of the booths. I can even make out the three men I had just left and I can't help but wonder if Caleb had been instructed to sit there. "Have you been enjoying yourself?" Should have known that she'd be watching from the moment I set foot in her club.

I nod without any further detail and try not to cringe under the eyes I can feel sliding over me from every direction.

"I'm curious." She rises and walks to the edge, her pale hand resting lightly on the railing as she stares down at our booth. "Who is that man you were with?"

I feel my chest tighten and tell myself to remain calm. "Caleb White? You've met him before I believe."

She angles her eyes to mine for a brief moment with a sly little curve to her mouth. "No darling, the other one."

Looking back out over the main floor, I find our booth once more and just barely make out the dark haired wizard staring up at us. Even though I know he can't see us, can't see her, I can't help but wish he'd get the hint and look away - that he shouldn't tempt a snake with too much time and money on her hands. "Harry Potter." I say and silently berate myself when the words come out with a tinge of tension.

"Intriguing." She trails her fingers over the steel and turns to lean her hip against it. "Fighter is he?"

"Writer actually." I correct and feel the liquor in my body fuel an indigent anger as she presses for information about him. He has nothing to do with this, nothing to do with her. "He's here on holiday." The tension in my muscles coil painfully as a woman in a long flowing blue dress and wickedly curved finger nails joins Safiya at the railing, her hungry eyes searching out Potter.

"A writer you say? What sort? Novels?" The new woman asks and the fact that she so blatantly just interrupted the Madame without permission speaks of her high position. Someone Safiya would want to keep happy.

"No." I manage through a clenched jaw. "Travel articles."

"Hmm pity, how I love a novelist." She mutters as she turns those seeking eyes back to me. 

"All details can be persuaded Grace dear." Safiya says in a voice like silk and my hands clench themselves into fists. What the hell does that mean and why is she so interested in Potter? I don't like it, all these unknown people whose gazes feel like their trying to pry my clothes off coupled with the unexpected attention to the man I had asked to join me tonight saturating my mind in an unsafe way.

I don't feel close to panic like I thought I would, no, I feel close to killing them with my bare fists. And if that man in the corner comes any closer or that woman, Grace, keeps staring down at Potter, I just might snap.

"How interesting." Madame Safiya's voice is soft but pierces straight through me, and I blink out of the rage building in me to find her staring at me - her eyes taking in every little tensed muscle and my narrowed gaze. She sways over to me, her middle finger reaching out to trace down over the buttons of my vest. "You should dress like this more often darling." She coos and if my hands weren't clasped together I would have broken the long digit with a swift crack.

"Is there anything else?" I ask as politely as I can, knowing I need to leave before I can't contain myself anymore.

She watches my face and I have no doubt that she can see the force growing in me. "No you may go now." She smiles and just to prove a point offers me her cheek and with reluctance I plant a light kiss on each one. "Thank you for coming by." She says then presses her own lips to my cheeks before allowing me to turn and leave.

I take the stairs with a swift stride and push my way through the crowd, a dangerous and long forgotten feeling of uncontrollable power welling up in me and burning just beneath the surface. I catch bright emerald eyes as I near my table, I watch those irises contract and lids narrow in question and everything sharpens around me. I come to a stop and can feel the eyes in the balcony searing into me, one pair of unending blue watching with rapt attention and I know she's waiting with anticipation to see what I do now.

"How'd it go?" Donnie asks, looking surprised to see me so soon, his gaze searching behind me like he can't quite believe that she's finished with me already.

"Fine." My voice is deep and unflinching and even though I should sit down, should order a drink, should quietly talk with everyone, and therefore show her that her interest hasn't affected me in the slightest.

I should but I don't.

 

And maybe Potter shouldn't have shattered that block because I feel unstable but in an entirely new way and before I can think better of it I reach out and grasp Potter's hand - pulling him from the booth. "Come on, we're going." I tell him and entwining my fingers with his, turn and pull him through the mass of people.

There is no way I'm letting him stay, not with that Grace woman leering at him like a favorite dessert to be consumed from the balcony.

"Draco? What happened? Is everything okay?" He isn't resisting as we wind our way through the club but I can practically feel his anxiety and confusion, emitting like waves from his body and lapping at me.

"Don't let her near you, you bloody run if you catch even a whiff of her." I'm seething, can actually hear myself fume into the night air as we emerge onto the sidewalk.

"What?" Potter pauses for all but a second and I tug him forward, eager to get as far away as possible. "Who? What's going on?"

"That damn woman." I spit out and stare down at my hand as it starts shaking. I flex my fingers but it doesn't help, the tremor an explosion of the energy coursing through me. "You leave and never look back."

He picks up his pace and comes up next to me, shooting me a wide eyed look. "You're not making any sense." He hesitates and squints in my direction. "Are you drunk?"

"No...maybe. I don't know." I mutter and maybe I am, everything does seem to have a strange sort of glow to it.

"Tell me what happened." Potter says as we round a corner and I look down the street trying to remember which way to go.

"Sick fucking people with too much money." I grumble and rake my fingers so roughly through my hair that my nails scratch with a burning sting against my scalp. "Damn it, which way is your hotel?"

Potter glances around for a moment, clearly trying to get his bearings before pointing to the left. "That way I think." He grunts as I yank him forward again, turning sharply down the street he indicated. "Did she threaten you?" He asks and you'd think given my ramblings he would be more concerned with his own well-being than mine.

But he's not, he never is.

I don't answer, just continue walking as quickly as I can down the sidewalk, Potter attempting a few more times to get me to explain before giving up and letting me just lead him forward. His palm burns against mine but I don't let go, don't even look back at him, the only sound I hear being my own heartbeat in my ears. Deep down I know I've just screwed up, know I just gave her more ammunition to strike me with and I can feel it bury like a knife to the hilt in my guts.

I will pay for this I'm sure.

 

But at the moment there's a fuzziness in my brain and a rage in my blood that is making me blind to it, smothering over the impending wound. All I can see, all I can think, all I care about at the moment is getting Harry Potter away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments guys, they mean the world to mean!


	9. I Need Your...

**_ Italics  _ ** ** = Flashback to seventh year **

  
  
  
  
_It has been interesting as of late..._  


 

_ The Golden Trio returned from their meeting with the Order in the early fog of the morning, stumbling into the tent with exhaustion. Granger and Weasley had promptly fallen asleep whilst Potter untied me - with a drawn look that kept my tongue still of any snide comments about being tied and left because he looked horribly ill, like he had just received some truly terrible news.  _   


 

 _And for some reason I just couldn't do it, couldn't tell him that I had thought of a way to destroy the horcrux.  Instead I had simply smiled at his few attempts at conversation that his heart clearly wasn't in before we both went to our respecting beds and drifted off to sleep._  
  
 

_ That was a few weeks ago now and I still haven't told him. _   
  

 

 _Glancing up over my mug of tea at Granger who’s sitting across the table from me eating her breakfast, I let the now familiar debate rise within my mind. Because half of the foremost reason I haven't so much as hinted at how to kill the bit of soul is currently biting into a disgusting looking bowl of porridge._  
  


_"You can't be serious about this mate." Weasley's voice drifts in through the tent flaps and my ears perk up with a vague sort of interest. He does not sound happy, surprise, surprise._  
  
  


_"About what?" Potter's tone is tired, accompanied with a barely heard yawn and I have to fight a frown. He hasn't been sleeping well lately and it's starting to take its toll on his body. I've lost count of how many times he's woken me up screaming, the visions from his link with the Dark Lord growing darker, more intense, and with greater frequency. It's getting harder to calm him down each time._  
  
  


_"Are you seriously going to give him his wand back?"_  
  
  


_Say what now? My wand? Give me my wand back?_  
  
  


_"Yeah I am, he needs it." Potter answers and it's about bloody time! Though I am a bit shocked that he's planning on returning it, I think he is secretly enjoying having it in his possession the antagonizing prat._  
  
  


_Granger's spoon stills in midair, her head tilted just so, clearly eavesdropping now with just as much interest as I am. So apparently she didn't know about it either. Interesting. I'm starting to get the distinct impression that all decisions relating to me are made solely by Potter. Of course I haven't decided if that's a good thing or not yet._  
  
  


_ Probably good in some aspects at least, considering Weasley would have just killed me on sight all those months ago and Granger...well I'm not altogether sure what she would have done. Then again I highly doubt either of them would have taken such an interest in making me laugh. I swear ever since the damn 'tickling' episode Potter has taken it upon himself to try and get me to snort due to laughing so hard. He's like a damn toddler, he's completely latched onto the sound and will not let it go! _   


 

 _I cannot for the life of me figure out what the hell is so entertaining about it._  
  
  


_Sometimes I really do miss being surrounded by Slytherins._  
  


 

 _"Have you forgotten who he is Harry? Have you seriously forgotten everything he's done?" Weasley demands and I shift uncomfortably on the bench._  
  
  


_ Oh yes, all the things I am, all the things I've done - these types of conversations never go well, most likely owing to the fact that I have been a rather horrible blighter during certain parts of my life. Not that I've exactly wanted to do everything I've done. But I am a Slytherin through and through and we are all about saving our own skin. If the Dark Lord says jump you say how high and all that rot. _   


 

 _Especially when they've got a wand pointed at your mother._  
  
  


_"I know who he is Ron." Does he now?_  
  
  


_"Do you? Because he's the same git who took great pleasure in making our lives hell..."_  
  
  


_That's true, I did have some awfully wonderful times plotting against them._  
  


_"...he's the guy who called Hermione all the foul names he could think of..."_  
  


 

 _Again true, and it has been rather difficult to stop ever since coming here mind you, it's just so ingrained in me. Get mad, insult the mudblood, and walk away with a smirk while Potter and Weasley rage against each other. I kind of miss it in a strange sort of way, almost like being homesick. But Potter would never forgive me if I started that up again and I can just picture the look on his face if I actually did it and..._  
  
  


_Damn it, I do not care what precious Potter thinks!_  
  
  


_The spoon clanks against her bowl and I meet Granger's wide brown eyes that are oddly not shining with hate. No, instead there's something else there that I'm not used to seeing and can't put my finger on. It's unnerving to say the least._  
  
  


_"...he's the fucking prat who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and killed Dumbledore!"_  
  
  


_ And there's the clincher, Weasley sure isn't holding back any punches this time. _   


 

 _"He didn't kill Dumbledore, you weren't there Ron, you didn't see what happened." Potter hisses and my head snaps back up._  
  
  


_Now wait a second, does that mean that he was there? What the bloody hell? When was he planning on mentioning that little tidbit?_  
  
  


_"Malfoy..." Granger says softly but I ignore her, not even trying to pretend I'm not listening any longer as I hold my breath._  
  


 

_ "Students died because of him Harry! And I don't like what he's doing to you." Weasley barks back and I force my mind to stay in the present, to not filter back to that horrible night. Hell that horrible year. _   


 

 _"What are you talking about?" I can practically see the indignation on Potter's face, the way his hand is no doubt flipping in the air in an annoyed gesture._  
  
  


_"He's getting to you and I don't know how he's doing it but bloody hell you follow the guy around everywhere!"_  
  
  


_I'm doing what now? What exactly does he think I can accomplish wandless? And I'm not making saint Potter dog my steps, he does it on his own thank you very much._  
  
  


_ "Follow him around? We live in a bloody tent Ron! How am I not going to spend time with him?" _   


 

 _Now that shouldn't twinge but it does. Although I simply refuse to believe that that little spike of hurt has anything to do with the implication that Potter only spends time with me because he can't get away. Why should it matter anyway? Aren't I only spending time in his company because of the same thing? Who else am I going to talk to out here?_  
  
  


_"I manage it! For the last month it’s been 'Draco said this' and 'we can't do it that way Draco says it won't work' and I'm so fucking sick of it!" Weasley's face is most likely resembling a beet by now and Potter does not do that. I should know, it takes far too long to get anything through that skull of his._  
  
  


_"Damn it Ron he's helping! None of us know what the hell we're doing but he's got a better grasp on it then we ever could."_  
  
  


_True. I most definitely do. Although probably not a good thing to admit to in a group of self-righteous Gryffindors._  
  


_"And why is that Harry? Huh why is it that Malfoy's so bloody good at the Dark Arts?" Oh good one weasel, I see where you're going with this, though isn't this card starting to get a bit old?_  
  
  


_"He's not a Death Eater!" Potter shouts and I see Granger jump a little out of the corner of my eye. Though if the jump was because she was frightened by the venom in Potter's tone or from being reminded of who I am is hard to tell._  
  
  


_"You sure? Have you seen his arm? Because I'm pretty sure you don't get that tattoo just for fun."_  
  
  


_ I feel my heart thud painfully at the reminder and unconsciously begin tugging on my sleeve, like if it's just properly covered up than maybe it will just go away. But it won't, it's the horrible Mark that won't ever leave me, the Mark that will pronounce to everyone for the rest of my days the sins that I have committed. God I hate it, can barely stomach looking at it, can even fell it squirming with an uneasy sickness sometimes.  _   


 

 _"He was threatened!" Now how does Potter know that? "Why can't you let it go? He's defected, even Hermione's willing to give him a chance."_  
  
  


_I chance a glance in Granger's direction to find her staring at the table and gnawing on her lip. But she's here, sitting politely with me while her lover boy spews all the evil he can drudge up. And she's not participating, not glaring at me in agreement, not laughing in merriment at the fact that I'm being subjected to listen to this._  
  
  


_Maybe she doesn't despise me anymore...I don't know what to think about that._  
  
  


_"I think the question is why you can? You know you used to hate him just as much as I do."_  
  
  


_The teeth that have been ripping into my cheek loosen and release as I scowl at the empty air, annoyed that they forgot the damn silencing charm for once. Because I don't want to hear his answer, haven't really wanted to hear any of this._  
  
  


_"Malfoy." Granger says again. "Ron's stubborn and your history...I mean it takes him awhile to let grudges go...but he'll-"_  
  
  


_"Forget it Granger." I mutter, standing smoothly and moving towards the tent's opening. Flipping back the flap, I stand up to my full height and sweep outside, my face a clear mask of perfect blankness._  
  
  


_Potter and Weasley - who's got the damn necklace dangling around his neck, honestly what was Potter thinking arguing with him while he’s wearing the horcrux? - are standing just outside and their eyes snap over to me the instant I emerge, whatever the sainted hero was about to say hanging silently on his lips as they stare at me._  
  
  


_"Don't let me interrupt you." I drawl and stride past them, not really sure where I'm going but knowing that I need to get away for a while. "Oh and next time best not forget the silencing charm." I look back over my shoulder long enough to catch Potter's face pale and fall as Weasley just gets redder._  
  
  


_The freckly redhead mutters something I can't make out, Potter whispering frantically back at him before I hear footsteps trailing after me. Figures he'd follow, too magnanimous not to I suppose._  
  
  


_"Just let him go." Weasley grinds out just loud enough to reach my ears. "We need to finish this Harry!"_  
  
  


_"Later alright." Potter brushes him off and I pick up my pace._ _I don't really want to talk to him right now._  
  


_I feel...odd. I don't know why this is upsetting me, why in the world should it? I knew Weasley still hates me, I'm not all that fond of him myself but there was something about the conversation - the implications and accusations that were thrown about that aren't settling with me. But most of them weren't even new, I've heard nearly all of them before but...damn it, how does Potter know about what happened that night on the Tower? How does he know I was threatened into taking the Dark Mark?_  
  
 

 _And why above all can't I stop thinking about the little nagging thought that maybe Potter doesn't actually like being with me?_  
  
 

 _I should not care. No, I do not care!_  
  
 

 _He's a disaster of a boy, completely unrefined, blurts out whatever he's thinking, can't seem to walk without tripping over his own damn feet, and above all takes great pleasure in making me uncomfortable. Not to mention he's obnoxious, his stupid hair is always sticking up all over the place like it's there just to mock me, and of course his damn smile and bloody laugh._  
  
 

 _He's...he's...damn it there's not even a word for him!_  
  
 

_ "Draco wait up!" Potter calls out to me and for some unknown reason I round on him, my expression dark and malicious. "Look I'm sorry about that." He slips two fingers into his curls and twists them around as he visibly tries to not flinch away from my gaze. _

 

_ "I do not care Potter." I reply evenly. "About what you and your little followers think of me." _   
  

_ His fingers tug his raven locks as he fidgets and I can see him racking his brain for what to say next, where to go from here, and I stand back with my arms crossed - letting him fret. He should be nervous, serves him right for making me...conflicted? Is that the right word? _   
 

_ Bloody hell he's even taken away my ability to adequately analyze myself! _   


 

_ "Here." He says rather loudly, shoving my wand suddenly at me and for some reason I find myself just staring at it in his grasp, the tip of it pointing straight through my chest. "I should have returned it sooner." _   


 

_ "Yes." I clear my throat and force my hand to lift and wrap around it, a muscle twitching in my cheek as I'm reconnected to the funnel of my power. "You should have." It feels light and heavy at the same time as I run my fingers over the base, the anger slowly ebbing out as it's replaced with the smooth grace that wielding my wand again lends. _   
  

 

 _"Want to go for a walk?" Potter asks and I shake my head quickly, still gazing down at the hawthorn length. "Oh...okay, maybe you could go over that last chapter with me again, I still don't really get it or, you know we could try out that warming spell Hermione came across and go swimming in -"_  
  
 

 _"I know how to destroy the horcrux." I blurt out rather suddenly and his eyes blink rapidly for a moment as my words sink in._  
  
 

 _"How...when?" Potter stammers, a surge of light entering his eyes at the possibility of progress._  
  
 

 _I cluck my tongue at my own stupidity, I know better than to just burst headlong into situations. That's how Potter does things, not me. "The night you went to the Order." I reply reluctantly._  
  
 

_ Potter stares at me for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "But that was weeks ago! Why didn't you tell me?" _

 

 _Pocketing my wand, I gaze at him wearily. "Because Potter, it will take all four of us and your little friends do not trust me."_  
  
 

_ He bites his lip and watches me curiously, processing the little information I've given him. "Is that really it or is it that you don't trust them?" _

 

_ "Not particularly but I trust you." His eyes widen a bit and I feel ridiculously self-conscious in a flash. "Nothing personal, I simply know that you wouldn't just let me die because of that infuriating hero mentality you have." _   
 

_He nods, a little smile that's trying to remain inconspicuous on the corner of his mouth. "Okay, so what do we need to do?"_  
  
 

 _"Well as we already know all destructive spells do absolutely nothing and then I realized that's because the locket is destructive in nature, it feeds off evil and pain and dark magic. What we need to do is overwhelm it with the opposite, make the bit of soul feel so hostile towards its enclosure that it breaks free to seek a new object to reside in. We need to saturate it with happiness-"_  
  
 

 _"Like the Patronus charm?" Potter asks._  
  
 

 _"A bit, same line of thinking but much, much more. One memory will not cut it, we need a near lifetime of it to draw it out. And out of all of us who are the people with the greatest amount of happy memories?" I finish, trying to not get annoyed at the interruption._  
  
 

 _"Ron and Hermione." He mutters as realization dawns._  
  
 

 _"Exactly. They will overwhelm it, which will no doubt take all their strength and then when the soul bursts out that is when we will step in and kill it." I finish and wait patiently as he forms his own thoughts around mine, waiting for the inevitable question._  
  
 

 _"How will we do it?" He sounds timid, not at all like the boy I know has faced the Dark Lord on multiple occasions and has lived to tell about it._  
  
 

 _I take a step closer for no real reason I can fathom other than...I want to, want to be close enough to feel the emotions slide off him, close enough to see his eyes flicker with his thoughts. "By summoning up every horrible memory you have, every terrible thing those awful muggle relations of yours did to you, ever fight we ever had, every loved one you've ever known whose died, every time you've faced the Dark Lord...every little bit of darkness that's inside you and bringing it to the surface and then murdering it."_  
  
 

 _His gaze darkens and slips over my face. "Wouldn't that just draw it towards us?"_  
  
 

_ "Exactly." I whisper. _

 

 _"What about you?" He asks tentatively. "What will you think of?"_  
  
 

 _I smile, no doubt making myself look slightly crazed in the process. "Trust me Potter, it won't be hard." He looks like he's going to say something but nothing comes out as he just keeps staring up at me._  
  
 

 _"Okay but I..." Potter falters and shifts his gaze over my face again and again. "I think we should try to not use the killing curse, unless we have too."_  
  
 

_ "Agreed." I nod, knowing why he isn't keen on using it, it's the same reason I am. "Now go get the locket and your friends and let’s take one more step towards ending this damn war." _

 

_ He doesn't move for a good while and I'm beginning to wonder if he's going to reject my idea after all before he mutters a quick "be right back" and turning and leaving. Leaning against a tree I brace myself for the upcoming confrontation, as I'm not naive enough to think that his lemmings will just go along with it without some sort of fight. _   


 

_ And I'm right. After Potter returns with them we take turns explaining what needs to be done, Granger's hand on Weasley's arm like the little touch is enough to hold him back if he decides to try and tackle me again. _   


 

 _"I don't like it." Weasley mutters, eyeing me like he can't believe that my intentions are pure. Which is just tiring, honestly if I had wanted to do something nefarious to Potter I would have had ample opportunity to already. "How do you know it will work?"_  
  
 

 _"We don't for certain until we try it." I stare right back at him, not feeling the least bit fearful of him._  
  
 

 _"But this is dangerous isn't it?" Granger says cautiously and I can tell that she's really giving it some deep thought. Not surprising of course but still it's nice to know she doesn't immediately assume it's some sort of plan on my part to weaken them so I can kill Potter. "This is how wizards go bad, playing with this sort of thing...what if...what if the darkness fills you to the point where there's no coming back?" She looks from me to Potter and back before glancing at the locket on the large boulder in the middle of us._  
  
 

_ "It's a risk." I tell her plainly, no use hiding it. "But if it does start to take Potter that's where you two come back in, it will be up to you to bring him back before he turns. But hopefully we'll destroy it before it even becomes a concern." _   


 

 _"What about you?" Shockingly it's Weasley who voices this concern and I stare a bit dumbfounded for a moment._  
  
 

 _And that's another reason I'm not exactly keen on this plan, what will happen if the process starts to turn me? Merlin knows those two wouldn't do an ounce of good in saving me, hell it would probably just make the transformation complete. I cast a sideways glance at Potter and realize that he's watching me steadily, a worried line across his lips._  
  
 

 _Oh hell of course it would be him. Somehow I just know he could do it, could stop me from losing myself but I'd rather inflict myself with bodily harm than actually admit that to him. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that shall we?"_  
  
 

 _Weasley takes a deep breath and exchanges glances with Granger before nodding. "Let’s do this."_  
  
 

_ After carefully going over the particulars, we each take our stances around the boulder, Granger and Weasley on one side, me and Potter on the other. "Remember you have to flood it, every bit of joy you can muster and once it's out cast your shields immediately." I remind them as we all raise our wands. _

 

 _And then it all happens very fast, the two Gryffindors that couldn't be any more different from each other casting the spells we'd gone over as they concentrate on saturating the locket with love and happiness - who knew something so sappy sounding would be part of the Dark Lords down fall? The locket shudders, reeking of rage and sickness and I know this all takes a good long while but it doesn't feel like it._  
  
 

 _Because suddenly, moments after catching Potter's eyes for a brief second, there's an unearthly piercing scream as the pendent shatters, Granger and Weasley collapsing to their knees behind their shield. But both our gazes aren't on them though but on the thick black mass rising from the shards, funneling towards us with a power that pulls at me and I feel my feet slip on the ground._  
  
 

_ Curses and hexes fall from my lips as all the hate and anger and evil I have ever felt in my entire life fuels each burst of magic, making it stronger and darker than ever before. I vaguely hear Potter casting beside me and sink further and further into each spell, my eyes filled to the brim with the nasty bit of old soul that the Dark Lord severed and bound and then it all spins and stills. _   


 

_ Potter lets out a choking rasp as the swirling cloud with its golden eyes dragging at me from within turns towards him fully and a panic grips me as he wavers on his feet. The soul is latching onto him, whether in effort to make its new home in him or in order to destroy him once and for all I can't know for sure. My wand nearly pulses in my hand with the force and speed of each curse, while I try to keep an eye on Potter out of the corner of my eye. _   


 

_ He falls to his knees and I feel an explosion of rage tear through me. This is not how he's going to die, Harry Potter will not be taken down by a filthy decrepit old nightmare! The mass is bending towards him, what can only be described as a hungry mouth opening as his green eyes take on a hazy look. I have no idea what it's doing to him but I will not stand by and let it continue. _   


 

 _With an uncharacteristic surge of fear for his life, I find myself skidding between them, blocking Potter from view and with a venomous glare I open my mouth and hear myself scream the killing curse, feeling a bit of me rip in the process. I know I wasn't supposed to, that we were going to try and find a different way to destroy it but fuck it all!_  
  
 

_ No one can take him from me! _

 

 _There's a roar that lasts only a split second before the mass converges in on itself, quacking and sputtering before blinking from existence._  
  
 

 _My arm falls to my side and I drag in deep heaving breaths, the residual energy from the magic flowing through me wafting around me as I stare at the broken locket lying so innocently on the forest floor. Dead._  
  
 

 _"Harry!" Granger shouts from the other side and I blink as I look up at them._  
  
 

 _I turn swiftly, rather terrified of the state I might find him in. "Potter, huhmps!" He knocks the air from my lungs as I find my arms suddenly full of a slightly trembling Harry Potter, his arms clinging around my neck._  
  
 

 _I stand there awkwardly as he hugs me – actually hugs me, no one ever hugs me - my arms tense and straight at my sides, then Granger and Weasley pop into my field of vision. I can feel the intensity of their gazes but they're not staring at us, at the way their leader is latched onto me, no they’re staring at just me with wide unbelieving eyes._  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
There's a warm heaviness draping over me, the scent of sweet coconut wrapping around my senses, a steady rise and fall, rise and fall in rhythm against my own. I turn towards it, blindly seeking it, sensitive finger tips skipping over a smooth hot expanse before sinking into coarse threads that wind around and through. My head turns, hair tickling my nose as I inhale, a smile twitching on my lips as I let myself slip deeper into the cloudy dream that feels too real to be the mist of the midnight mind.

"Mhmm."

The sound is deep and vibrates with a ghost of a breath over my chest and my hand stills as it all skids into focus. Tension starts in my toes and sweeps up my legs and into my torso in a matter of seconds, trapping my air and skipping through my thoughts. An arm tightens around my waist and I stubbornly refuse to open my eyes, to confront what I now know is not a dream but a very real reality. Forcing my fuzzy thoughts together I propel them backwards as I try to still the thumping of my heart.

Why the hell am I in bed with Potter?

I know without even looking that it's him, because the body smells like him, the noise - however small - sounded like him, the hair is most definitely his, and bloody hell even his arms feel uniquely like him.

But my head feels like it's filled with a thick fog and there's a small churning in my stomach and...damn it, am I hung-over? Alright so maybe I had more to drink than I thought last night. I take a deep breath and focus all my energy on mentally retracing my steps. Everything leading up to Madame Safiya, as well as my conversation with her, is perfectly clear, standing starkly and stoically amidst the alcohol induced swirl.

Then I had left her and I remember feeling almost overpowered with a ferocious rage at the way that woman had leered at Potter and then I had...dragged him out. Damn it, why did I do that? Because now that the anger has been reduced to a dull simmer, the realization and repercussions of that action hits me full force.

I overreacted.

Potter is a free man with no debts to her and it would take some time and calculated moves to reel him in but by leaving as I did I may have inadvertently put him in more danger. Because now she knows he means something to me, means enough to break my reserve, hell I had practically shoved everyone out of our way.

I might as well have draped a big gaudy sign over him proclaiming, "hey here's my one massive weakness!"

And that's where it starts getting disjointed and fuzzy. We left and came to...Potter's hotel? Bracing myself as much as I can, I crack my eyes open only to immediately have my vision filled with the top of his sleeping head - because he's using me as a bloody pillow, his cheek just under my collar bone, his chest half atop mine, his arm thrown over me with one of his legs curved around mine. And then I notice my arms around him, one hand buried in his hair, the other pressing around his back. We're both half naked and his skin feels like the damn sun and what the bloody hell!

Silently swearing at myself, I glance around, spotting my clothes thrown across the back of a chair, my shoes having been clearly kicked off across the room. There's a vague memory of pushing him through the door and ordering him to set a ward but then shouldn't I have left?

 

Shit, this is why I don't drink!

Think, think, think...alright so he set the ward and then...then he had hounded me for answers in typical Potter fashion, though I can't quite remember if I had managed to give him any that really made much sense. I remember feeling uneasy about leaving him, my overactive mind picturing Madame Safiya hauling him off the moment I stepped foot out of his room.

Which is absurd because he’s a powerful wizard for crying out loud, all he would have to do is wave his hand in her direction and she would suddenly not even remember who she is, let alone Potter - but apparently I was drunk and therefore not thinking logically?

Then...was there more drinking? My eyes flick over to the table and fix on the nearly empty bottle of gin and two glasses...good lord what had gotten into me last night? The next thing I can remember is pulling my shirt off and falling onto the bed before passing out. No wait...Potter had been scrambling up onto the other side, muttering about it being his bed and the hell if he was sleeping on the floor.

And that's it. Though apparently we had migrated towards each other during the night.

I stare down at him silently, his breath drifting from his parted lips and cooling my skin for brief flashes as I wait. For what, I'm not exactly sure, perhaps for the panic that should have come on already at the fact that I can't really remember much after leaving the club or maybe for his touch to start turning painful like any sort of intimate contact usually does. I wait but nothing happens and all I feel is some slight nausea that is most likely stemming from all the liquor I had consumed.

He mumbles something under his breath and I can feel his mouth curve into a little smile as he shifts against me, lighting through parts of my body that I really don't want involved in this situation. I feel a stirring in my stomach and find myself swearing again as I remove my hand from his hair and press it over my eyes.

This is all too much to take in, the fact that I feel completely...present...just as unnerving as the reality that Potter's currently wrapped around me. Add the need to pull apart and examine my conversation with Madame Safiya to the mix and I feel damn near bursting with anxiety. And then there's the little problem of the way my body is trying to react to him being glued to me and the timid voice in my head telling me to just pull him closer and go back to sleep - and god the other voice that's trying to get me to lift his face and...

I need to get up.

Now the question is how I do that without waking him up, because I cannot have him regaining consciousness with us like this. My only hope is that he's still as deep a sleeper as he used to be. Holding my breath and pointedly ignoring the ache that's growing between my legs, I slowly roll him until he's on his back under me. His arm flops down to the bed as his head turns to nuzzle back into me, my arm easing its way out from under him in a slow but steady pace.

He's murmuring again and I freeze, staring down at him with an odd little fear holding me in place as I watch him. He looks younger, like he used to, with a softness to his face that time has hardened - his dark lashes dusting against golden skin and I fight not to look lower, to not let my eyes land on his mouth that I know will look much too enticing. His lips brush over my shoulder as he shifts, like his body is trying to seek me out in its sleep and a shiver runs down my spine. And damn it that's it, rolling away from him and right off the edge of the bed, I catch my breath as I land softly on the floor.

What in the world was I thinking staying here last night?

I rise to my feet only to become rooted to the spot a second later as he rolls back onto his stomach, his arm reaching out and tugging the pillow I had been using to himself - his face burying in it but not before I can just barely make out my name spilling from his throat.

Bloody fucking hell.

I turn and walk as quietly and swiftly to the bathroom as I possibly can, closing the door with great care before pressing my face against it and wanting nothing more than to start physically banging my head into it. This is pure torture and even though there's a door between us I can still smell him and am just starting to think that maybe I am losing it before I realize that it's me.

That I smell like him now.

"Damn it." I whisper to the empty room while running a hand vigorously over my face. I need to get a grip, need to regain control over my body and mind, and to do that I first need to get his scent off of me.

 

Stripping the wrinkled trousers and boxers off, I turn on the shower and step under the barely warm spray. Closing my eyes I lean into it, willing the water to wash away not only his scent but his lingering touch that feels like it’s been burnt into me. It flows down my skin but doesn't collect and drain away what I need it to, instead it only seems to magnify it and I find myself growing painfully aroused as the image of his sleeping face won't leave the forefront of my mind.

It plays across my eyes, his little sounds filling my ears, the memory of his hands pulling me closer knitting itself into me and I bite my lip harshly. There's a near constant stream of cursing flying through my mind as I press my hands into the tile and clench my jaw, wondering how I allowed myself to get into this situation. Where did my reserve go and why did the smallest implication that someone might want to lure Potter to her bed cause me to snap?

Because I don't act rashly.

 

Everything is calculated, everything weighed, and everything categorized and placed where it should. Nothing is supposed to slip in where it shouldn't but then again Potter has never been one to play by my rules - whether he knows it or not being beside the point.

And now...damn it now I can't stop feeling him, hearing him, seeing him, and no matter how many horrific things I try to press into my thoughts, nothing diminishes the need that's blazing through me. With a resigned growl and very purposely ignoring the voices nagging at me, I let my hand fall down and slowly wrap it around my erection. Trapping my tongue between my teeth to dislodge any noise, I stare at the scummy wall and let my fingers trail up and down my shaft.

I will get rid of the problem but I will not picture Potter while doing it damn it.

I will not let my mind replay his little moan, will not imagine his smile, will not picture his green eyes sparkling up at me, will not imagine him falling to his knees with the shower water collecting in his monstrous hair and running in rivets down his cheeks.

Shoving the edge of my thumb into my mouth, I bite down till I'm nearly breaking the skin and continue not to think as my hand moves with a growing speed.

I am not thinking about his long dexterous fingers wrapping around my hard length, am not thinking of him pumping it up and down through his fist as he stares up at me with his bottom lip between his teeth. No I am definitely not going to think of him parting his lips and sucking my cock into his warm wet mouth, I am not imagining my hands tangling in his hair and the sounds he would make while I fuck his mouth.

No I'm not, I'm not, I'm...not...oh god.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel my orgasm gather and rise and with a muffled cry that is most definitely not anything close to 'Harry', I come all over the shower wall. I slump forward as the water pounds over my head and back, trying to regain my breath and fighting what feels suspiciously like tears pricking behind my eyes.

I slam an open palm against the slippery tile before pinching the bridge of my nose. I feel completely shaken, my limbs weak and heart beating with a quick irregular beat. And oddly enough I feel less in control of myself now than I did before and it's only so much worse knowing that Potter's currently sleeping on the other side of the door.

I stand under the spray until it turns icy with a hard won blank mind, knowing that I will have to confront all of this soon but not now...not yet. Twisting the water off, I step out and dry off with mechanical movements, stepping back into my boxers and black trousers with hands that want to shake. I comb my hair with my fingers, rinse my mouth out, and with a deep breath and fixed face, I slowly open the door.

He's thankfully still asleep, his body curled around my abandoned pillow with an expression of utter peace on his face. Prying my eyes from his sleeping form, I walk with light feet over to the table, pulling my white button-up from over the chair and slipping my arms in. My fingers automatically rise to fix the collar before I even begin to button it up but they pause halfway through the motion as I catch sight of his notebook lying innocently on the table.

And maybe it's just another sign of me slowly coming apart but I can't stop my hand from reaching out for it, lifting the heavy book from the table and running my thumb over the worn leather. With a peak in Potter's direction, I carefully open it, my eyes falling on an old picture fixed to the inside of the front cover.

It's of the four of us - me, Potter, Granger, and Weasley. We're sitting on a long log, bundled against the chilly morning of the mountains. Granger is grinning, her hair a frizzy mess, her nose bright pink from the cold. Weasley has his arm looped around her, a half smile on his face, his legs in a constant fidget. Potter's hands are shoved in his jackets pockets as he leans forward over his knees, smiling softly, his nose crinkling as he glances at me from the corner of his eyes. And there's me, a little more space between where I'm sitting and the rest of them, with the smallest of smiles working to turn my mouth up - like it's trying to contend with a sneer and just barely managing to win.

I stare down at the photograph, remembering clearly the day it was taken. Granger with her camera, trying to capture moments that didn't really need documenting but she was meticulous about it anyway. Like she was desperate to remember it all, every little moment, even me.

 

God I look young, I look...whole.

With a frown, I turn the page and quickly realize that it's not a notebook for taking notes for his travel articles, it's a scrapbook journal. There's page after page of old photos, some of people I know, some I don't, and more often than not they're the photos from our year spent hunting through the country - his messy nearly unintelligible writing breaking the trend here and there. My fingers slip slightly over the worn pages, as I come across my own face time and time again, in so many pictures I hadn't even realized she had taken.

There's me reading on my cot.

Me cooking at the fire.

Me walking with Potter through the woods.

Me scowling at Weasley.

Me laughing and sitting with Potter, sharing a mug of tea.

It goes on and on, spread throughout the book and I've only barely scraped through the first quarter of it. When the photos begin to taper out, his handwriting starts taking up more space, interspersed with postcards and note cards and newspaper clippings. And the further I get the more I start to realize that we've been to some of the same places all over the world - from Italy, to Brazil, to Guatemala, to Nepal…

I can hear my own breathing as it all racks through me, tugging at my mind and playing with my emotions, and with a headache forming behind my right eye I snap the book shut - not daring to venture any further into it. We could have been in the same places at the same times and not have even known it. Our steps marking out the vastness of this world strangely in-sync and I can't help but wonder when he was at each place and how he came to find himself there.

 

It seems too absurd to be merely coincidence but how could it be explained otherwise? He didn't know where I was and even if he did why would he come looking only to gather up a postcard, jot down some stories, and then just leave? It doesn't fit, doesn't make sense for it to be anything more, for it to have any deeper meaning.

But still...I have the last seven years of his life resting in my hands and all it would take to find out is to let my eyes land on his script and read his words. It's all here, all before me but I know I can't, can't betray whatever amount of trust we still have between us - however tattered and damaged it might be. Hell I've probably already crossed a line just by flipping through it.

With a sigh I set it back down gently, my fingers brushing over it one last time before stilling on the edge of the worn folded bookmark. The bookmark he's always moving from page to page, discreetly folding it with careful movements, the little square paper that has a glossy sheen to it, and that he never leaves open for anyone to see.

I know now that it must be a photo and there's a part of me that's near convinced I know when it was taken as well.

It feels like there's something lodged in my chest as I thumb it, debating whether to draw it out and reveal its secrets, to know for sure. The thing grows to the size of boulder, pressing against my lungs, and sending little jolts down my chest and through my arms. It's a strange sensation, one that both terrifies and excites me, breaks me and calls to me.

Flexing my fingers, I pull them back, letting the bookmark stay where it is between the pages - because despite the urge to reveal it, I know it's not for me, that finding its truth could only hold more pain either way.

And it's not like I don't have enough on my mind to deal with at the moment. Why torment myself further? Why tempt the tempest inside me that's seemed to have abated for the time being? Because I know it's not gone, not completely, I can still feel it brewing - for it's still within me, only now I'm in the eye of the storm and where I go from here is anyone's guess.


	10. I Need Somewhere To Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Somewhere only we know" by Keane

  
  
  
  
The walk back to my flat is long and filled with trepidation, the thick warm air drying my hair in a curling mess like it's trying to reflect the turmoil I feel inside. It's a ridiculous analogy but I can't seem to break it from my mind every time I have to shove it out of my eyes with irritation.

 

It almost feels mocking.

 

Atop that I know I must be making a strange sight indeed in the early morning - rumpled trousers, un-tucked shirt with the black vest thrown haphazardly over it and remaining unbuttoned. And glancing down I realize that I didn't even manage to lace up my boots all the way before fleeing Potter's hotel room. I had felt very much like a petulant child getting caught red handed the moment he started to stir awake and before I had even thought it through all the way I had been grabbing my boots and vest and running out the door. I'm not ready to face him, not after spending the night tangled together and then in the shower...

My scalp protests with a burning edge as I tug my fingers through my rebelliously wild hair yet again, absentmindedly rounding the final corner before my building. Fishing my keys from my pocket I knock straight into Caleb as he comes jogging down the steps with a deep red sweatshirt zipped up and covering his head, the smallest glimpse of a white wire leading to each ear.

 

I curse while regaining my balance, not sure if I'm more annoyed at the fact that I seem to be making a habit of smacking into people lately or worried that I keep getting so lost in my thoughts that everyone around me turns to a mist until their colliding with me.

"Hey sorry." He pops the headphone buds out with a quick tug on where the wire meets as he takes a step back. He eyes me up and down and I feel a tad ashamed of the obvious nature of my attire, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot for a moment. "You just getting home?"

"Um yeah, crashed at Potter's." I tell him, my tongue feeling oddly thick in my mouth as he looks at me. I know I shouldn't care what people think, but I can tell from the way he's staring at me that he's wondering about what all that 'crashed' entitled and most likely picturing it containing much more than it was.

Setting that look alongside Potter's assumption of Caleb's thoughts towards me and it's enough to make me want to jump out of my skin and hide. I don't know how to deal with any such intentions, don't really want to give the energy to even try to, and I really wish he hadn't said anything.

Obliviousness is so much easier to handle.

 

"Oh really?" His smile looks a little forced, his tone a bit too short for his usual joyful cadence. 

 

"You had us worried you know. Why'd you disappear that like?"

 

I suck on my tongue as I debate how much to tell him, wondering if it would lighten the load at all to share the straps Madame Safiya is trying to tie me down with. Or if it's even safe for me to do so. Would it put him in anymore danger if I do? Would she turn her calculating eye on him if I bring him deeper into her complicated web of half-truths and barely suggested comments that sting like poison?

It's my fault alone that she's even taken an interest in Potter and I know I shouldn't risk another. But Donnie will be wondering as well and I know I have to give them some sort of an explanation, my abrupt departure with Potter from the club last night too startling not to.

 

"I wasn't keen on staying any longer than I had to." I pause and tug on the hem of my wrinkled shirt. "Plus there was some rather unseemly talk about Potter that I didn't think he'd appreciate." There, that's safe enough right?

Caleb nods and brushes the hood from his head. "She was interested in Harry? That's a bit out of her norm isn't it?" He fidgets on the balls of his feet and there's a pulling tension between us that I don't recall there ever being before.

 

I shrug with as much nonchalance as I can muster. "I think she enjoys being unpredictable." I reply with a one sided smile, leaving out the real reason that I know has to do with me bringing him in the first place...and probably holding his face in my hands for a strangely long time.

 

No wonder she was curious about him, I was not acting like myself at any point last night. Why did I think it was a good idea to bring him again?

"That she does." He smiles back at me and relaxes a little bit, the taut line in his shoulders easing with a release of his breath. "It was fun though yeah?"

"It was...loud." I mutter.

"God you sound like such an old man." Caleb laughs. "Cause you know you're not supposed to complain about noise until you’re over forty."

"Arbitrary rule."

"If you say so. I've got to get going, wanna join me?" He asks.

I seriously consider it for a moment, my body humming at just the idea of losing myself in a good long run but I shake my head, grudgingly knowing there are some things I need to do that I shouldn't put off any longer. "No you go ahead, I'll see you later."

"Alright Dray, oh and give Donnie a call okay? I think you spooked him last night."

I nod and wave him goodbye as I trudge through the door and down the hall, my door giving way beneath the light weight of my hand. I sigh as I drop my keys on the desk and glance around - it's funny how different my flat actually feels compared to Potter's hotel room. The place literally buzzes with a different sort of energy and I can't help but wonder if it simply has to do with our different cleanliness levels or if it's due to the drastically different nature of our very beings.

 

I don't necessarily feel at home here, never really have, but I do feel content. And yet, the air here now has an edge of melodically that I never really realized before, it feels sparse and...void. The books line the shelves so very neatly, my fingers refusing to release them back to their spots until they are perfectly aligned, the desk scrubbed till shining, the bedspread without a wrinkle marring it, the kitchen without a dish insight...like no one actually lives here.

Soulless would be the word I suppose.

My eyes slip shut as my feet are all but sucked into the carpet, leaving me immobile and standing at the fork of two very different paths. They're both wide and clear for all but a second until they twist off into the tangled unknown, neither offering any reassurance, both a deep question that conflicting parts of me want to run down. And I wish I could just continue to ignore it, continue to stay still or even back up a few steps and stay there in its familiarity forever. But that's unfortunately not an option anymore, the place I'm at not being a safe one to dwell. I have to decide, have to traverse down one of the paths, hell I just know Potter's going to kick me down one if I don't decide for myself soon.

Gathering up my resolve, I grab the corner of the desk and pull the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall. It creaks and groans and seems to be loudly protesting my decision with each inch it gives until I can finally reach behind it. My hand feels along the wood until I come to the hairline seam that signals the opening to the false backing. Pressing all five fingers squarely against it, I push in and find my breath leaving my lungs as it clicks and pops out. I grope blindly in the little niche, a dull ache reaching back out to me as I wrap my hands around the old wooden box.  

Placing it carefully, relevantly, on the top of the desk, I stare silently down at it. The wood is a dark cherry, covered in a fine layer of dust with long smudges on the top and sides where my fingers had held it. I haven't opened it since running from my past life and yet I've carried it around with me, from place to place, hiding it carefully at every stop – no matter how long or short of time I was there for.

I haven't even really looked at it in all this time. It had always been too painful to - I much preferred to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't there. But there's no overwhelming pain now, no tendrils reaching out and hooking though my skin, pulling me down. Instead there's only nervousness and...curiosity.

"No going back." I mutter to the empty room, setting my jaw and hoping that I'm not wrong about this.

My fingers slip through the dust then carefully pry the lid up, the hinges creaking lowly with protest. My gaze skips over the few items nestled inside, my hand hovering above it like there's some invisible net restricting it from traveling any further into the contents. With a sharp intake of breath, I plunge my fingers down against the cold that seeps into them and lightly touch the slim sliver ring bearing the Malfoy crest.

It pulses back at me, like it's seeking its owner and I quickly withdraw from it, not ready to pull it any further - to accept it once more. There's a thumping in my ears that I distantly recognize as my own heartbeat as I skip over the other few trinkets before pausing over the hawthorn length that was supposed to spend the rest of its days inside this very box.

Never to be touched or wielded again.

My wand looks the same as it ever did, no dust daring to cling to it, and memories fall like raindrops through me - washing through my mind with both remembered joy and crushing anguish. But I'm not here for the memories, not here to relive the best and worst times, so I allow myself a second to sponge them away.

Then I tentatively let just the tip of my middle finger run over its length, ready to recoil like lightening if I start having an adverse reaction to it. I release a long breath that seems to vibrate and exhale from the wand’s very tip and I pull my hand back, staring intently at my middle finger like it now has all the answers I need.

There's a gathering of power resting there, in a near perfect circle, not moving or growing or pulsing out. Just waiting for me, like a silent offering.

"Of blood..." I say so very softly as the nail of my thumb digs into the tender pad, my voice trailing off after only the first two words. The long withheld voice of my father rising in my ears, all those years of listening to him spew pureblood hierarchy. If only he could see me now, see how I've shed the Malfoy name, see how I've shun from my very own blood.

His blood.

It seems so...insignificant.

"Draco!" There's a shout and a bang on the front door, the wood rattling on its hinges from the force of the knock.

I look up slowly, my thumb still pressing into my middle finger, feeling oddly frozen - even my mouth refusing to open and speak.

Potter calls my name again and after another round of knocking there's a whoosh of air and then he's suddenly standing right before me, looking for all intents and purposes like he's gone completely mental. He's got his shoes on the wrong feet, is still wearing his checkered sleep pants, and the green shirt he had worn last night is hanging on his shoulders with only two of the buttons in the middle of his chest done up. His glasses are a bit skewed on his face, like he shoved them on in such a hurry that he missed one of his ears, and his hair even more wild and unruly than I thought possible. He's got his wand in his hand, his eyes as wide as saucers as they dart around, looking for god knows what.

"Are you alright?" He gasps out, sounding out of breath. Had he been running? "You just...damn it Draco!"

"I'm sorry but...what?" I ask, clearly confused.

He lowers his wand and clutches at his side like he has a stitch. "Don't do that!" He snaps and slumps down onto the edge of my bed.

"Do what exactly?"

"Disappear, don't you ever just disappear." His tone is unusually harsh and tinged with a bit of residual panic.

"I," I pause, feeling oddly guilty for some reason. "I just went home."

"Well bloody wake me up next time first." He falls back on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. His shirt rides up and falls open over his stomach, exposing a smooth toned stretch of skin, his other hand pressing down to rest in the dip just under his belly button. 

He used to be so skinny, his body once ravaged by the elements, stress, lack of proper nutrition, and plainly put, war. And while he's still trim there is nothing drastically skinny about him anymore, a full grown man in full command of his body. I find myself staring at his fingers, rising and falling with each breath he takes, his pinky just barely slipping beneath the elastic of his sleep pants. The sight along with the lingering sound of distress in his voice at having woken up to find me gone is doing funny things to my nerves, and with a hiss I look away to see I've actually pricked my finger - a single drop of red blood staining the tip. I bend my finger at the knuckle and smear the tiny drop across my palm, effectively expunging away the well of magic that was reaching tentatively out to me.

"I feel like shit." He groans suddenly and I glance back over at him, determinedly keeping my eyes away from his lower half.

"Alcohol will do that." I respond, annoyed when my voice comes out a little too raspy.

He hums in agreement and then lifts his hand a fraction and peers at me from out from under it. "All your bloody fault."

It was? "Care to clarify?" I hedge, truly curious about all that happened last night.

He grunts then pushes himself up on his elbows, eyeing me with bloodshot eyes. "You first."

"Come again?" I tip my head and with smooth movements, reach behind myself and carefully shut the lid of the box, knowing I can't chance him seeing inside. His eyes flicker over to it at the small creak for a moment but he thankfully doesn't ask about it. 

"You were acting..." He trails off, looking up at the ceiling as he mulls over the correct description.

"Tipsy?" I supply for him.

"Unhinged." He corrects and I try not to visibly flinch. Apparently everyone noticed then. "I want to know what happened with Safiya."

"Ah, well what do you know already?" I ask, slipping the vest from my shoulders and hanging it carefully in the wardrobe simply so my hands have something to do.

He snorts and sits up all the way, his fingers rubbing over his forehead. "I have no clue really, you just kept rambling about me running far far away from someone and not letting her touch me." He chuckles lightly, then with a grimace seems to reconsider the sound and his decision to get up. "You weren't making any sense. Just lots of ranting, pacing, and drinking." He mutters as he flops back down, bringing his legs fully onto the bed and turning on his side to face me. "Reminded me a bit of your more heated tirades about washing my dishes as soon as I'm finished with them."

I scowl and toe my boots off, tossing them in the bottom of the wardrobe. "If you don't, then they become ghastly difficult to clean now don't they?"

"Beside the point."

"You brought it up." I pad into the kitchen, turning over exactly what to tell him and how as I fill the kettle and place it on the stove.

He mumbles something I can't make out and when I come back into the room he's sprawled across the bed, a muscle twitching in my cheek at the sight. With an inward curse I make a mental note to do the laundry before tonight.

"How are you doing that?" He grunts and I pause with my hand rifling through my shirts, looking over at him with a perplexed look. "Walking around so much." He tries to clarify and I just blink. Walking around, seriously? "You were way more drunk than me and it's much too early for you to be looking so healthy."

"I was not that drunk." I pull out a simple gray tee-shirt, laying it over the back of the desk chair while I begin to undo the buttons on my shirt.

"Right." Potter snorts. "So then remind me, why exactly did you pour all my shampoo down the sink?"

My fingers still on the last button, the tiny little fastening pinched so tightly in my grasp I'm surprised it doesn't snap. I did what? "I think you were imagining things Potter." I mutter, forcing the last button free and shrugging the material that feels a bit sticky off my shoulders.

Though wasn't that exactly what I've been wanting to do?

"No, you stalked into my bathroom, grabbed the shampoo, and started emptying the whole thing while ranting about 'Harry fucking Potter and god damn coconuts'. It was quite humorous actually, except for the fact that now I need to buy some more." His tone is light and edged with little laughs but there's also a hint of question in it, wondering why I had actually done something like that.

And what am I going to say? Yes Potter, I simply cannot resist the way you smell and it's literally driving me insane with making me want to snog you so that is why I had to get rid of it. Oh yes, that would go over really well.

I can feel him watching me, his gaze burning over my exposed back before I manage to tug the clean shirt on. "It was making me sick." 

"Sure it was." He smiles, the kind of smile that makes his nose crinkle and eyes narrow and he sounds much too happy about that. "Now, back to the lady I need to run away from and not let touch me." Potter swings the subject back around and I find myself just blinking at him for a moment, my mind having wandered off and gotten lost again in watching the damn stretch of skin that's still exposed.

This is getting much too difficult.

It was just a few days ago that it wasn't nearly so hard to keep myself in check - any amorous thoughts, really even looking intently at him, quickly leading to a rising panic. But now the panics have seemingly vanished leaving only a plethora of questions and...why can't he button up his damn shirt?

Now is the time to look away again, to stop watching him like an idiot but nothing seems to be going my way this morning - my entire body apparently rebelling against the logical side of my mind. I need to do something, say something, before I completely lose all control and climb onto the bed. To taste him and make his face contort in a mirror imagine of the one in my thoughts.

 

I shake my head and blink and good god what am I a teenager again? This is getting ridiculous, this is not me...maybe I'm still drunk...

The kettle whistles and I turn with probably way to much enthusiasm for a simple cup of tea and very purposely not run but walk into the kitchen. Pouring the boiling water into a smaller teapot, I add a strong amount of loose leaves, set the timer, and with determination rejoin the man who’s apparently set on ruining me all over again.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" Potter asks while staring down at himself and plucking at the wrinkled material.

That is not a good idea, is he purposely trying to scar everything I own, making it impossible for me to ever look at anything again without seeing him? I can't put my whole pathetic life in that dusty box and close the lid once he leaves again.

No, not pathetic, structured. My structured life. 

But of course there is no good and logical reason he can't borrow a shirt, so with my lip curled in revolution at my own inner distress, I pluck out the first one my hands fall on and throw it to him.

I wonder if he'll get out if I ask him to leave. Probably not.

I hear the rustle of fabric, can picture perfectly in my mind the way his arms will lift and bend as the material falls free and with yet another curse at myself, I retreat back into the kitchen. To check on the tea, mustn't let it get bitter and all. I scowl at the inane timer that's still ticking down with silent seconds and brace my hands against the counter top.

I really should throw him out, not only to remove this fuzz in my mind but so I can get back to that damn crossroads and decide how and where to proceed.

"Just curious but what does this say?"

I glance over my shoulder at Potter's curious voice to find him standing in the doorway, pointing at his chest. And damn it I should have picked more carefully because I like that one. He's wearing one of my Muay Thai shirts that Donnie gave me after my first fight, a deep black fabric with the Thai language scrolled in a semi-circle on one side with two hands pressed together in the sign of respect on the other near the bottom.

"Bone is inch by inch, stronger than steel." I translate with a small nostalgic smile. I was always fond of that saying, because it was a promise of sorts to me. Reminding me that if I just gave it enough time, enough courage, enough of myself than my bone could be the part of me that's strongest. Not my heritage, not my blood, not my magic. My own bone, something I could harden and mold with sheer effort.

Something that was only mine that no one else has touched.

"I like that." Potter smiles and slides onto one of the chairs.

The timer dings and I pull out two mugs, pouring the tea into each before carrying them over to the table. He mutters a quick thank you as I slide it towards him, his lips pursing to blow on the burning surface as he holds it between his palms. His breath creates a ripple over the top of the black liquid, his glasses fogging from the proximity, and a portion of the fear that had driven me out of the club last night spins towards me. Free man or not, she could still get to him. And this, he, is not a gamble I'm willing to make.

He's not safe here and I can't...can't continue with the focus I need with that pulling at me. I have to win the next fight.

"I think you should leave." I say abruptly.

He starts and curses as the tea sloshes in his mug and spills over his fingers. "Oh okay...um well...I mean I still want to know though. Maybe this afternoon-"

"No Potter." I cut him off, my throat feeling suddenly tight and my heart squeezing as I force the words out with a deadpan voice. "You need to go back to England or America or wherever you want but you can't stay here." His fingers are bright red, scalded angry lines curving over them but he doesn't get up to run them under cool water or even give them a second glance.

"What? Why?" His green eyes are unusually wide, all trace of humor gone from his face as he stares at me. "Does this have to do with what happened last night?"

"Yes." I look down into my mug, the expression on his face too distressing and I need to stay strong, stay focused. Convincing Harry Potter of anything is an art form of itself - one I used to be very good at but I'm not so confident in my abilities any longer.

"What is it?"

"Madame Safiya...as well as some of her clients...has taken an interest in you and it's not safe any longer."

"An interest?" He repeats, sounding perfectly puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"Put it together Potter, why would I want to keep you away from a client that wants to touch you?" I ask, putting a sharp emphasis on the word client and touch.

He looks utterly incredulous for a moment before, "oh...OH..." He shifts uncomfortably and I glance back up to meet his eye. The look I don't want to see takes flame in his irises and I brace myself as he leans into the table. "Draco, why was she having you meet those kinds of clients?" He asks tensely.

Damn it, can't he ever just act selfishly for once and not worry about others? 

I wave my hand in the air dismissively, acting as if her making me let them see me didn't bother me in the slightest. "As long as I win the next fight it will be inconsequential."

"As long as you win..." My jaw slides forward and sets, why does he keep repeating me? "Does that mean if you lose that she's going to...what, sell you?" He spits the last words out with a biting anger that surges through me.

"I'm not going to lose and even if I do she'll find it rather difficult to actually do it." I mutter darkly, taking a drink of my tea even though it's too hot and scorches my mouth and throat.

Potter looks wild, his magic rising like a force around him that makes me want to cringe away and wrap it around myself in the same moment. Because maybe if I can build up enough anxiety, enough revulsion this will all be so much easier. "But she'll try! How do you know she won't even if you do win? Why are you even still here? We need to go, not just me!"

"I've made my decision."

"Then bloody change it!" He snaps and I just look at him steadily, letting him see that it's pointless asking me too. "Well I'm not leaving either then." He seethes stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You don't owe me anything Potter, you should get out while you can." I say quietly, suddenly feeling very, very tired.

"I am not leaving without you." He grinds out and he looks utterly dangerous, like he's standing again on the battlefield with only a stretch of frozen ground between him and the Dark Lord. When his hands had slipped over mine, directing my arm out, a command screaming from his lips as I slumped against him, a wand of untold power flying into our outstretched palms. He had been blazing then, a force pushing out from him that had stilled the bravest and darkest of hearts - a clear and undeniable reminder of what he could do to anyone who tried to tame and control him.

I feel like crumbling beneath the waves, the torrent emitting from him, and allow myself the briefest of moments to wonder what it would be like. How it would feel to let myself go and just let him pull me away with him. To forget this whole life I've carved for myself, to let the bone that sits like steel within my body drift back to its more brittle nature. Could I possibly replace it with the heritage in my blood?

Could I handle it? Do I even want to?

"Why?" I hear myself asking, not realizing I had done so until the question pulls a stretch of punctured silence from him.

He licks his bottom lip before biting it and do I really want to know the answer? I can't help but let myself think back to his journal, to the pages that spoke of his steps over these past few years, the steps that seemed oddly like ghosts of my own, the probability that it was all just a great cosmic coincidence pressing at me and laughing in my face. “You know why." He says quietly.

"No Potter, I don't." I struggle to keep my emotions in check, to keep them down and out of the way, away from clouding my judgment. "I have no idea why you care so much. Is it some sort of skewed loyalty thing because we used to be friends? It that it? I haven't seen you for years and you didn't give a damn during all that time. Or is this about your need to be the hero? Are you so bored in your own life that you have to leech onto mine just to get a fix of adrenaline? How many times do I have to tell you that I don't need you to save me?" My voice, that had grown uncharacteristically loud, falls likes shattering glass through the kitchen and Potter's staring at me like I've just stabbed him repeatedly – his dark lashes laying over heavily hooded eyes.

And with a crack the mug sitting before him shakes and collapses in on itself, dark tea spilling across the table top. I stare at the running liquid, barely registering the hot quality of it soaking through my pants as it drips off the table. "Always once more." He says so lowly that I almost miss it, my gaze snapping away from the river and up to him.

"What?" I clench my hands over my thighs, pressing into the hot fabric.

"You left." He continues, like he didn't hear me at all, his eyes distant and oddly shinning. "You left, not me, so don't say I didn't give a damn."

My heart plummets into the pit of my stomach and the spilled tea in my lap and on my hands suddenly seems to reach my nerve center and starts to burn uncontrollably. And maybe it's just me trying to detach, trying to dig my heels in and stay very far away from where this conversation could lead, but I let myself drown in the heat for a moment. Then unable to take his gaze anymore and equally unable to come up with a fitting retort, I rise quickly and walk over to the sink.

Turning the tap on, I stick my burning hands under the cool water, wishing very much that I could dunk my entire body beneath its cold stream - maybe then the heat that seems to be radiating from inside me would dissolve.

"Do you want to know how that made me feel?" Potter says from behind me, his tone hard and very controlled, like he's only allowing himself to breathe every other second, only allowing his voice to rise between each inhale.

My head shakes on its own accord, my hands trembling lightly under the water and I start counting simply to give myself something else to latch onto other than his words and voice. "I imagine nothing."

"You can't believe that." He replies, his voice nearer than it was a second before, causing every muscle in my body to tense. "Not after everything."

"Actually I can." I clear my throat, frowning at the breathy quality of my tone, sounding very much like I don't believe my own words. Cursing myself and refusing to acknowledging the tremble that seems to be spreading to my insides, I turn sharply, intending to fix him with a sneer that would convey my disdain in a way my voice is refusing to do. Instead I find myself trapped between him and the sink, his hands reaching immediately out to press into the counter top on either side of me. And before I can think it through my mouth is opening on reflex and nearly growling out, "you wanted to know what they did to me? They took away the illusion Potter, they made it all very undeniable clear."

His throat works, his eyes flicking down to the long ugly scar on the inside of my left arm and it's like I can feel the knife against my skin all over again - cutting away the decaying Dark Mark with a blade that was too dull for the job. "No Draco, they made you believe a lie if that's what you really think."

"Wrong again Potter." He's standing so close all I can see is his vivid emerald eyes that are darker than ever, can feel his harsh breath on my face. "You don't-"

"I killed him." He interrupts me and I feel all the blood drain from my face, my heart stopping. "Did you know that?" I shake my head, my eyes blinking rapidly, positive that one of the times I reopen my eyes that he'll be gone, that this is all a figment of my imagination. Because that can't be true. "I did, I tracked him down and killed him myself."

I swallow thickly, my mind filling with the image that his explanation is conjuring. Can it possibly be true? It doesn't sound like Potter, doesn't fit the goodness of who he is. "No...how...why?"

Yet even though I can't believe it of him, it's worming its way inside anyways, vibrating over and over in my head - he's dead…he’s dead...

 

The man who threw me in a pit with nothing to protect me from the elements for weeks on end. The man who starved and beat and tortured and broke my body in every way imaginable. The man who took such great pleasure in hearing me scream, the man who tormented me to the point that my own name was a haze on a distant horizon that I could no longer reach.

He's dead and I don't quite know how to grasp that.

Potter's arms slip closer around me, pressing into my sides and I'm sure if I looked down I would find his hands clasped unnaturally tight around the ledge. "Because they took you and tortured you and now I know why. They didn't want to kill you, they wanted to break you didn't they?" He pauses and looks positively murderous. "They wanted to make you believe you are something you aren't."

"But I am." My voice cracks but I can't gather enough energy to care about that appearance of weakness, my head spinning with all Potter's revealing. "I am and that's...that's why..."

"Why what? Why you ran? Why you can't stand magic?" He probes and I feel myself crumbling because no matter what Potter says I know better.

I know what I am.

"That's why you need to leave." I finish in a whisper.

"It's not real Draco, it's not true." He's turning flustered, his eyes softening around the edges. "I don't know what they convinced you of but listen to me, I know you, I do and whatever twisted version of yourself they gave you isn't it." His arms snake around my back until he's pressing himself to me, his face burying in my shoulder and I can feel the hardness of each drag of breath through his chest. "Just...trust me please."

I stare at the empty space of wall over the top of his head, finding it hard to breathe as I listen to his pleading voice. I can't believe I just told him, it's my secret and even though he doesn't know the whole of it, doesn't know the deepness of the wound or the infection that's festering in it, it's only a matter of time now before he does. Before it all becomes clear and I can't live through that, I know it will sever the last thread of sanity I have. I can feel him so solid and warm against me, hugging me like he's afraid I'll drift like smoke through his fingers, and it's such a cruel illusion.

Because he'll hate me when he knows and even if for some miracle he doesn't, he should.

 

"Just please leave." I know he just barely manages to hear my one last plea and I can feel his arms tighten and throat swallow while his heart speeds up.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" He mumbles against my shoulder, sounding oddly small, like a child - it's a voice unfitting of the great Harry Potter. "I can help you, we can figure this out together."

"Harry." I sigh, using his given name in an attempt to gather his full attention and it works, his head pulling back just a fraction to look at me with an expression of hope. The speech that was building in my mind slowly falls bit by bit through my gasp as he sucks me in and I know there's no convincing him. Unless I shatter him, unless I take that hope away in such a manner that it can never grow back. And that is exactly what I should do, what I need to do for his and my own sake. And I know just how to do it.

"Tell me." He says gently, running just the tip of his fingers over my jaw in a touch that's much too soft before pressing a feather light kiss to my cheek that captures my breath anyway. "Tell me the lie they gave you and I'll show you how wrong it is."

I screw my eyes shut, my jaw clenching tightly, his touch becoming more insistent at the hardness that overtakes my muscles. "Go." I know I'm simply repeating myself, an argument that won't work but I can't seem to bring myself to use the things I know will drive him away now. And maybe it's because there's a part of me that doesn't want to, the part that's melting under him - I can't remember the last time I was touched in such a manner or kissed, even if it was only on the cheek.

"Not a chance." I can hear the shy smile in his voice.

"I can't tell you."

"I can wait until you’re ready." Potter whispers, pressing another kiss to the corner of my eye.

"You'll be waiting forever then." I mutter, his attention making me feel like a puddle on the ground and even though I should put a stop to it, I can't seem to move my body in any helpful way - instead I find my hand coming up to rest atop the one he has curved around the side of my neck, in effort to pry it away or to make sure he doesn't run I can't be sure.

I feel completely torn in two, perfectly conflicted, his warm lips opening just a fraction to place a wet kiss near my ear and then moving over my jaw. But he's not for me and never can be. This is a very dangerous line I'm dancing.

"I can do that." He says, promising in so many words to wait forever with me, for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late guys! I meant to update days ago but work as been a whirlwind, can hardly catch my breath at the moment. Anyways hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll try to post more this weekend :)


	11. There's a Fire Starting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Rolling in the deep" by Adele.

  
  
  
_I can't move, can't even blink properly._  


 

_ But I know the stairs I was levitated up after they hit me with the body bind. I know the mattress with the soft blue bedspread beneath me, know the curving intricately carved ceiling above me. I know this room like an extension of myself, though I wasn't sure I'd ever lay eyes on it again. _   


 

 _What with turning traitorous and everything._  
  


_ I know every step, every nook, and every chipped stone. I know it all and with a twisting in my guts I've never wished to be further from it. _   


 

_ Even more than my first summer home from Hogwarts, facing my father's disdain for receiving the second highest marks in my year - second to a mudblood an outrage worthy of punishment. _   


 

_ Even more than the summer after my father was imprisoned. _   


 

_ Even more than the moment I first laid eyes on the Dark Lord in the foray. _   


 

_ Even more than the morning He held my arm down and branded me as his forever in my father's abandoned study. _   


 

_ Even more than the night I was forced to watch my Muggle Studies Professor devoured alive by that wretched snake. _   


 

_ Even more than the nights and days that were filled with Death Eaters moving in and out, tracking their muddied footprints that shone with their kills. _   


 

_ Even more than the night I fled, the night that seems so very long ago already. _   


 

_ Because above all I know Granger's screams that I can hear vibrating up the stairwell and through the echoing hall. _   


 

_ I know the cellar they dragged Potter and Weasley into. _   


 

_ I know the madness this house holds and I can't fathom a way out. We've been trapped and locked in a maze that is the very heart of the Manor and I can't even spend these last moments with Potter - my mother's orders stripping me of that one small hope. _

 

_ I'm to be ostracized and dealt with accordingly. Whatever that means. Doubtful it will be anything good. _   


 

_ But really all I desperately desire at the moment is to forsake the false comfort of my old bedroom I've been disposed in and join them, because I need to see them, need to know what's happening, and if their hurting them. _   


 

_ I can hear my own breathing, the only thing a part of me that's still free to move without restraint, and my eyes feel like red stinging nettles. Just think, it was only a few hours ago we were sitting around the fire, discussing our next move. So much has changed since we destroyed the locket last month and at the same time nothing really at all. _   


 

_ Minus the rather miraculous finding of Godric Gryffindor's sword that is, an event that still eludes any real explanation as to how Potter and Weasley actually got a hold of it. Honestly Potter is the worst at explaining anything when he's excited, although it was rather adorable watching him bounce on his feet and grin like a loon as he tried. _   


 

_ We still moved from place to place in an aimless wander, we still had no clue where to look for the next possible horcrux. We still nearly starved, still huddled against the rain of spring, still bickered, still tolerated Granger's endless flashing camera. And yet...Weasley speaks to me now, not at me, not through me, but to me. _   


 

_ And with civility. Mostly. _

 

 _Ever since I jumped between Potter and the bit of soul attacking him, he's taken a begrudged liking to me- well as much as a Weasley can like a Malfoy anyway. I haven't been quite sure what to make of it but it seems to be making Potter happy, so I've been going along with it. What is the use of grudges and old rivalries now anyway?_  
  


_ It all seems rather pointless in comparison. _

 

_ Especially now that we've been captured and Granger's tortured shrieks are boiling my blood. God if only Potter hadn't said his name, the damn Taboo, so simple a thing being our downfall. _   


 

_ If only the Snatchers hadn't recognized Granger and myself. _   


 

_ If only I hadn't let my guard slip. _   


 

_ If only I'd grabbed his hand tighter and ran faster. _   


 

_ If only we were anywhere but here, anywhere but my damn ancestral home that positively reeks with all the evil residing within its walls now. _   


 

_ If only, if only, if only...it's like a damn broken record in my head. _   


 

_ "Draco." My mother's voice drifts over to me from somewhere out of my line of sight. "I'm going to release you but you must stay where you are or I'll be forced to bind you again. Understood?" _   


 

_ I can't answer but I feel my insides tense as the spell comes to an end and turn slowly towards her. She's thinner, almost frail, all the luster and life gone from her striking nearly white hair and the spark has been extinguished from her once radiant blue eyes. She looks ill, near death even, and I wonder if it has anything to do with me leaving. Was that what sent her spiraling down or is it simply playing host to the Dark Lord that's draining the life from her? _   


 

_ "No proper greeting? I taught you better than that." Her tone is hard and cold, her mouth set in a firm and yet somehow dainty frown. She used to be so regal and there's a part of me that feels a little sick at this skeleton before me but it doesn't overshadow the other more prominent reality. _   


 

_ The one where me and my friends are on the verge of being tortured to death in my own home, at her own command, no matter how indirectly it may actually be. _   


 

_ "Good afternoon mother." I reply coolly, my face just as set, just as firm as her's - I learned from the best after all. _   


 

_ "So, you've taken up with Potter?" She takes a step towards me, her robes swishing about her feet in a way that only adds to the illusion of her floating over the ground. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you've always had an unhealthy obsession with the boy." Her fingers, the long bones encased in pale papery skin, brush her hair from her shoulder. "Although I did think you'd be wiser. Not such a fool at the very least. _

 

_ "Is there a point to this?" I ask, moving my legs off the edge of the bed and sitting up, my spine a perfect straight line, my shoulders squared and tense. _   


 

_ She smiles faintly. "Good to see your rolling about in the muck hasn't ruined your posture." _   


 

_ "I wish to be moved to the cellars." I state bluntly with the haughty tone that always makes her nose twitch, ignoring her snide remarks. _   


 

_ "To be with your precious companions? I think not Draco dear." She taps her wand against her thigh, her head tilting on her thin neck. "No I think it's better to have a look inside that head of yours, perhaps we'll find something of use to our Lord." _   


 

_ "Your Lord." I correct. _   


 

_ "That will change soon enough." She skirts the bed, staying just out reach. "As much as a disappointment you've turned out to be, you are still my son, our only heir, and a few memory modification charms should do the trick I think." _   


 

_ I let out a single cold laugh that has her pausing mid step. "Memory charms mother? Strip my memories all you like but the Dark Lord will torture and kill me on sight no matter how much you mess with my mind." I tell her with a hard edge to my voice, effectively hiding the fear and anxiety I feel away where she can't see or hear it. _   


 

_ "Perhaps." She says quietly. "But perhaps he'll spare you dear after you strip Potter of his defenses and hand him over to our Lord as an offering." I feel all the blood drain from my face, my heart stopping in my chest in a painful lurch, a thoughtful look flitting across her face. "Oh, strike a nerve did I? It wasn't so long ago that that suggestion would have delighted you to no end." _   


 

_ Swallowing thickly, I try to think quickly, desperate to come up with the right words to dissuade her away from her current line of thought. Because I can't...god I can't torture Potter, the idea of her distorting my mind to the point where all I feel is a boiling hate for the Gryffindor making me feel dizzy and shaky and ill. "He can't be beaten mother. Potter's too strong." I say, trying to reassure myself just as much as trying to change her mind. _   


 

_ "I don't know." She smiles like there's a foul taste in her mouth. "I think having you perform his discipline might lower his guard just enough. He's seems to have grown rather fond of you after all." _   


 

_ "Mother." I struggle for the words, all possible arguments slipping through my fingers as my distress swells inside me. "Please just...don't make me. If this must be the end then let me die with my own mind intact." My voice comes out tinged with sorrow, cracking a little at the end as my eyes slip shut, feeling completely unable to remain behind my icy facade any longer. _   


 

_ Not while all I can think and imagine is a horrible montage of Potter withering on the floor in endless pain beneath my own wand before the Dark Lord ends his life once and for all.  And maybe, just maybe my slight break will be enough for her to extend mercy, enough to keep me from that terrible fate. _   


 

_ She takes a step closer, my eyes glued to her satin covered toes peeking out from beneath her dress. "Look at me Draco." She commands and summoning my resolve I obey her order, knowing perfectly well that the mask has dissolved to nothing in my gaze - leaving me feeling completely exposed and naked before her. "Potter won't win." She says, her own tone holding another level of emotion that I've rarely ever heard in her. _   


 

_ She sounds tired and sad and almost...scared. _   


 

_ I sit up a little straighter at it, watch as she takes another step in my direction, her body dangerously near now - almost close enough for me to lunge out at her. Everything around me slows as my mother, the woman who gave me life, the woman who has always been there for me, stares back at me. My mother who doted on me in my younger years, spoke frankly with me as I grew, and whom nearly lost it when I was made a Death Eater and given my doomed assignment. _   


 

_ My eyes flicker to the closed bedroom door, knowing there's a guard just outside, and beyond that is the long wide hall, then the curving staircase, then two right turns, down another flight of smaller stairs, and then...I could run it with my eyes closed. _   


 

_ I could make it. _   


 

_ The probability is not great, the chance pretty slim in all reality. But I could and to try would surely be better than to just sit here and let my mind be turned against me. And maybe just maybe I will make it and either escape with our lives or meet the end with Potter by my side. The thought wells in my mind, pumping courage out through my limbs and all I need is for her to take one step closer. Just one. _   


 

_ I stare into her eyes that are strangely clear, beckoning to me. "It doesn't matter." I tell her and hold my breath, waiting for her next move. _   


 

_ Her pale lips twitch as she blinks with a slow intake of air. "My dragon..." There's a spasm in her cheek and letting her eyes slip shut, she takes the smallest step closer. "Se souvenir de moi gentiment."  She whispers and before her words have completely fallen from her lips, I leap off the bed and towards her, my hands wrenching the wand from her hands. _   


 

_ The spell knocking her backwards and stealing her consciousness leaves my mouth with a strange sort of detachment that doesn't let the words reach my ears. Nor do I let my eyes linger on her slumped body but instead with a speed spurred on by my desperate urgency and knowledge that I have only precious few seconds, I fling the door open and Stupefy the Death Eater standing guard before he even has a chance to turn around fully. _   


 

_ Hopping over his fallen body, I fly down the hall with my heart pounding in my ears, mixing with Granger's nerve slicing shrieks, as I try to formulate a plan. The main problem being that I have no idea what to expect or what I'll encounter and if I manage to make it down to the cellar how will we get back out? I highly doubt that the wards of the old Manor are still in tuned to my magical signature, so that takes Apparating out of the question. And then, even if I free Potter and Weasley, how will we get to Granger? I can't remember how many there are with her and we will only have one wand. _   


 

_ Absolutely nothing is stacked in our favor. _   


 

_ Death seems to press in from all sides like a mocking punch line that won't change no matter what I do. _   


 

_ I take out another Death Eater at the top of the stairs before recognition even takes form on his face and start down the winding staircase. The sound of two sets of feet thumping up the stairs reaches me seconds before their rounding the corner, my wand held out and a curse ready on my lips before I nearly stumble down the next step at the sight of black hair followed closely by red. "Petrif- Potter!" I hiss, my eyes snapping wide open at seeing him. _   


 

_ Alive. Intact. _   


 

_ "Draco." Potter breathes out, relief washing over his face as he leaps up the next few steps and pulls me into a hug. "God are you okay? Where did they take you? Did they hurt you?" He rambles out in a voice barely above a whisper as one of his hands curves around my neck, his eyes raking over me in an attempt to find any injury on me. _   


 

_ "Yes, yes I'm fine. How'd you get out?" I ask, my own fingers probing along his cheek, like the simple touch will reveal any damage that might have been done to him. _   


 

_ I feel a sense of calm rush through me at the solidness of him beneath my touch and the steadiness of his arm that's still around my back. And I realize as I watch his emerald eyes roam over me that I didn't really believe I was going to see him alive again and the reality is like a flooding overwhelming joy inside me even though we are still very far from being safe. _   


 

_ He shakes his head and smiles a twitching smile like he can't help but be happy even though he knows he shouldn't be. "Long story, look we need to get Hermione. Can you Apparate out?" He asks. _   


 

_ I blink out of my contemplation of him and frown. "I don't think so. I have my mother's wand and I knocked out two Death Eaters on my way down, we should go get them and then free Granger, we need to hurry, Bellatrix will come looking soon." I tell him quickly, suddenly realizing how stupid it was for me not to grab the wands right after they fell. "Unless of course you have one, do you?" _   


 

_ Potter grins and nods. "Yeah." He pauses and eyes something just over my shoulder then glances quickly behind himself and I barely have a chance to make out Weasley's turned back as he scouts around the corner before Potter’s grasping me tightly to him once more. "See you soon." He mutters into my ear, in a tone that sounds too much like a goodbye. _   


 

_ Before I have the chance to open my mouth in question he grabs my face between his hands and presses a hard kiss against my lips as all the air rushes out of his nose in one loud exhale. It's over nearly as fast it begun, the solid heat gone before I can even fully comprehend what just happened and then he's releasing me, pushing me roughly backwards. _

 

_ My feet catch on the steps, my hands grasping at thin air as I fall, Potter’s face morphing into a sad little smile before I feel a light touch on my arm seconds before I should be hitting the ground - but instead the world is snapping and morphing and whirling in on itself. With a shout that gets lost in the void I'm being sucked through and I land a moment later in a disoriented heap on cold wet sand - the rush of the ocean roaring around me and the biting salty wind stinging my face. _

 

_ "What..." I glance around, my eyes just landing on the little house elf that looks remarkably familiar before he's disappearing with a small pop. Then it all clicks and I feel an overwhelming rage rise through me. "Damn it Potter!" I scream into the empty air, my hands fisting angrily in the sand. _   


 

_ How dare he do that! _   


 

_ What the hell was he thinking sending me away? Does he not trust me enough in a fight, is that it? Is he worried I wouldn't be able to stand up against my own family?  And now, now I just have to sit here and wait, wondering and worrying and having no clue what's happening and if they're all right. Damn it! If he makes it back alive I'm going to kill him. _   


 

_ Or at least shake him vigorously and maybe slap him for good measure. It's been too long since I've done that, bout time I started it up again. _   


 

_ Plus what the hell was that kiss? My lips feel like they've caught fire from the brief but intense contact and there's a flipping in my gut that's turning with way to many emotions for me to even begin being able to sort them out. _   


 

_ So he has to come back, he just has to because he is not allowed to die without getting a sound lashing first. _   


 

_ He just can't...he can't... _   


 

_ "Draco Malfoy?" I turn at the sound of my name breathed out in a wispy dream like voice that sounds vaguely familiar, only to find the most oddly dressed blonde haired girl standing behind me. I know I've seen her before and god I really should be able to place her because honestly how many people have I met in my life that looks anything like her? _   


 

_ She's wearing radish earrings and hot pink crop pants for Merlin's sake! _   


 

_ "Yes?" I grind out, trying not to let myself deteriorate into hyperventilation at my current situation. _   


 

_ "You don't remember me do you? That's okay, you always did have an overabundance of Wrackspurts in your ears." The blonde girl drifts like she's perched on a wave as she speaks, a distant sort of smile on her face. "I'm Luna. Or Loony as you liked to call me if you'd rather." _   


 

_ Oh right. Loony Lovegood. Yes I really shouldn't have forgotten that, Potter took her to Slughorns party last year after all. "Right of course." I grumble, dropping my head into my hands, not really in the mood for a pointless chitchat. Then again..."where are we?" _   


 

_ Luna shrugs lightly. "Not sure really, beautiful though isn't it? Much nicer than the cellar." _   


 

_ "You were being held at the Manor?" I ask, eyeing her a bit more carefully now. _   


 

_ She smiles and nods. "Oh yes, with these nice gentlemen." Luna gestures to her left and with a silent curse I notice the other two occupants of the beach for the first time - Dean Thomas and Ollivander the wand maker, the former staring at me with barely suppressed contempt, his hand clamped into a fist at his side. _

 

_ Probably lucky he hasn't tried to tackle me yet, what with him being a Gryffindor and everything. _   


 

_ "Keep back from him Luna." Thomas instructs the wavering girl, his gaze full of spite and I can't help but wonder if any of them know about the months I've spent with the Golden Trio, from the looks of it I'd say no. _   


 

_ Before I have the chance to enlighten him however there's another little pop and Potter, Granger, Weasley, a goblin, and the house elf drop in a tangled heap on the sand. And I should stay where I am and let them sort everything out, then proceed to ask nice calm questions about how it went and make sure they're alright. _   


 

_ But who am I kidding? Since when have I even been able to restrain myself around Potter? _   


 

_ With a grunt, I hop to my feet and lunge at him just as he manages to stand, my body colliding sharply with his as I tackle him to the ground. He lets out a shout as the cold foamy waves surge up around us, soaking my knees as I straddle him, his entire body drenched in an instant as I hold him down with a sneer. "Bloody hell Potter! Where do you come off?" I shout at him, my hands holding his wrists down in the sinking coarse sand. _   


 

_ "What?! Get off me Draco!" Potter bites out, spitting out the salty sea water that splashes into his mouth, his hands wrenching from my grasp and moving to try and push me off. _   


 

_ I slap his hands away, growling at the flailing limps that are trying to knock me sideways, my knees no doubt digging painfully into his sides. "You had that elf send me away. You could have fucking died you bastard!" His fingers scrape at my face and I retaliate with my own solid smack against his wet cheek. "I thought you trusted me!" I feel torn apart, the better part of me raging while the other half is filled with a strange sort of repetition of a single though. _   


 

_ He's okay. He's okay. He's okay.... _   


 

_ His mouth drops open, his eyes narrowing and I take his moment of hesitation to take control of his arms once more. Pinning his wrists at an awkward distorted angle by his ears, I lean down close to his face. "Is that it? Huh Potter? Has this all been some mental joke?!" _   


 

_ "That's rubbish." Potter hisses. _   


 

_ "Then what? Damn it why did you do that me!?" I twist painfully on his wrists and can't seem to stop the little crack in my voice, as all the intense emotions that today has been wrought with comes crashing heavily into me. _

 

_ "Because!" He shouts like he's trying to drown the roar of the waves. "I didn't want you to have to fight your family!" _   


 

_ "I attacked my own mother to get to you! And that was not your decision to make Potter." I seethe, my head dropping forward with exhaustion as my limbs start to shake. Today was the first time I had seem my parents in so many months, the first time I had been back to my home, the day Granger was tortured, the day I attacked my own mother, the day it all almost ended, the day I spent worried sick over the possibility that Potter was going to die and I wouldn't even know. "I should have been there...you should have trusted me." _   


 

_ It's the day I realize that I won't be able to breathe again if he's killed. Bloody hell. _   


 

_ "I do! But I didn't...I didn't..." He falters for words, the hands beneath my own no longer struggling, his body going nearly slack like he's too tired to fight me anymore. _   


 

_ "You didn't what?" I press, needing to know. _   


 

_ Potter stares up at me with red rimmed eyes, the water having sopped his curls and lapping at his face with each surge but he doesn't seem to notice any of it any longer. "Draco." He says quietly, breathing heavily, and that's it. _   


 

_ Just my name, like some sort of twisted recount of the first time he found me at the river, and I don't know what to make of that, what it means and oddly enough I feel tears press against my eyes. _   


 

_ "Don't do that again." I mutter, shaking my head, and letting it hang heavy until my forehead presses against his chest. "You can't do that ever again." _   


 

 

****  
  
  
  
The large yellow envelope is sitting so very innocently on the mahogany table, its flap bent and creased with care and precision, sealing its contents inside and away from scrutiny. I can feel my finger twitch once as I look down at it, wishing to pull it towards me and pry it open. But I resist, restraining myself from giving Madame Safiya the illusion that having kept this information from me for so long has affected me in any negative way.

I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer.

Taking a sip of the cool sweet tea, I lean back against the chair, its carved backing digging into my shoulder blades. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?" I ask her evenly as the empty plate before me is whisked away by a mute servant with a bowed head.

Safiya smiles and drops her hands into her lap as her own dishes are cleared. "You're not going to open the packet?"

"I will later." I reply without glancing back down at it. "If there's nothing else than I should be going." This has been a strange and much longer visit than I'm used to anyway, her summons drawing me to her private rooms above her club. I hadn't wanted to come, her messages holding no hint to her reason behind the meeting, and Potter had positively glowered silently at me the entire time I was getting ready to leave.

But of course it wasn't a choice so I came, expecting the worst and instead receiving dinner and pointless chitchat that kept skirting any real issue without delving straight into it - something that has left me both weary and wary. I've lost my taste for word games over the years.

"How is our Mr. Potter?" Safiya plucks the white wine glass from the table in the curve between her thumb and index finger, holding it aloft in the air but not moving it towards her lips. "He's been staying with you, no?"

I curl my hand in on itself and hold her gaze steadily, wondering how exactly she's been having me watched, that's the only way she could have known that. Because Potter has been staying with me this past week, it wasn't anything we discussed or have really openly acknowledged even. I think he was just afraid of leaving after that morning he woke to find me gone and if I'm honest I was rather reluctant to let him go. It seems safer somehow having him stay.

And it's been...nice. I train, he writes, we cook and eat together and go for walks. He doesn't press and I don't demand any answers of my own. We talk about things to don't hold too much depth, staying away from anything that could trigger me. He even brought over a telly that we've been watching old movies on each night.

"He's well." I say as politely as I can manage, feeling the all too familiar cold fingers of dread crawl up me.

"He's an odd man isn't he? There's something about him..." She continues, the wine still untouched, her head cocked and eyes cold even in thought. "Though the odd ones are always the most passionate are they not?"

"I suppose, he's dedicated to his work." Which is a load of shit considering I don't think he's actually written anything for the magazine since coming here, despite all the time he spends writing in his journal.

"Yes I see how he could be very dedicated." Safiya says with a smile and a tone that makes me think she's talking about something completely different than his career. "I'd like to hear what you make of him dear?"

I hold in a sneer and force myself to smile in return as I try to find my way around this new puzzle. How am I supposed to respond to that? I get the feeling that my answer holds some untold power and will reap some sort of action, I just don't know if it will be good or bad or how to make it turn out in our favor.

To call him dispassionate would draw her to be more infatuated with his untold fervor.

To call him a bore would entice her to draw him into action.

To call him disloyal would challenge her to disprove it.

To call him a dedicated friend would make her try to twist and bend it to her will.

To pretend my disinterest in him would make her push more firmly against both of us.

To admit my care for him would be to spell his immediate decent into her unrecoverable desires.

God I miss the times when everything was straight forward, when I only ever saw her on the rare occasion and didn't have to sift through her unspoken layers and weigh my every thought against how she'll see it and use it.

"Potter is predictable." I finally settle on, knowing it's true enough that she won't see it as a lie but not interesting enough to spur her into one specific course of action. I hope at least.

She takes a sip of her wine as she contemplates me. "Predictable. How do you mean?"

"Exactly like it sounds Madame."

"Mhmm." She places the glass back down and stands up, walking around to where I'm sitting and leaning back against the edge of the table as she stares down at me. "So darling if I were to keep you here, what would Mr. Potter do?"

I swallow and try not to flinch away from her gaze. "Go to bed I assume." I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster, like the suggestion that he would feel the need to do something about it being absurd.

"And if I kept you overnight?"

"Maybe call Donnie to make sure I wasn't in an accident if I still wasn't back tomorrow night." I shrug casually, thankful she can't hear or see the speed of my pulse. This line of questioning is making me nervous because it speaks too much of Potter's explosive reactionary tendencies. But how could she possibly know that?

"Truly?" She says quietly, quirking a single eyebrow and I can see the shadow of doubt in her eyes. There's a light rap on the door to my right and her eyes flit up for a moment before turning back to me with a small smile. "We'll have to finish this later, my guests are here." She straightens as I push out of my chair, her hand reaching out to clasp mine in a light hand shake. 

"Perhaps we can test your theory another time."

Fuck.

"Perhaps." I incline my head to her and drop her hand, grabbing the envelope I turn and make my way out the open door, eager to get away from the stifling room.

I pause at the base of the stairs, listening to the music I can hear vibrating from down the hall as I try to regroup my thoughts. Apparently predictable wasn't the right description to use to derail her curiosity but I still for the life of me can't think of a safer answer I could have given that she would have been satisfied with. I know she's taking too much pleasure dangling her interest in him before me, a game of cat and mouse where she's also the keeper of the maze.

At least that Grace woman hasn't made an appearance.

My feet falter in indecision as I stare down at the envelope in my hand. Potter will be waiting for me, waiting for a recount, no doubt with a pot of tea sitting between us. But the only way that will make any of this easier is if he leaves but I know he's not going to, he's made it abundantly clear, and bringing it up again would be counterproductive. I know it because I can still hear his promise even though we haven't spoke of it and neither has he tried to touch or kiss me again since that day in the kitchen.

But it's there. Always there right between us.

With the decision still taking shape in my mind, I find myself turning away from the path to the exit and instead make my way down the narrow hall and descending the hidden staircase. The distinct noise and smell of the basement fills my senses, letting everything else drift to the back corner of my thoughts as I shove the envelope into the surprised hands of one of Madame Safiya's men.

Pushing my way through the thick crowd, I strip the shirt from my body and toss it away as I step into the drawn circle. There's an uproar of shouting and thumping and I only have to wait a moment before there's another man entering the ring from the opposite side, smiling menacingly at me. I grin back at him, watching as he removes his own shirt and steps up into position.

 

The sound of bets screaming quickly through the mass dims to a non-distinct buzz as I toe the chalk line and send my fist flying.

 

 

****  
  
  


Potter has his head tipped in thought, his tongue between his teeth and poking just barely out from his lips, his eyes narrowed, and brow furrowed. He takes a sip of his tea, licks his lips slowly, and sets the mug down. "Did you have fun?"

"Mhmm?" My legs stop their swinging from where I'm perched atop the counter top, my back leaning back against the cupboards.

"Your knuckles are bleeding." He points out.

Bringing my hands over my lap, I look down at the cracked skin and blooming bruises that always follow bare knuckle boxing. "Indeed they are, spur of the moment competition." I wiggle my fingers, testing for any stiffness.

The tap turns on and I glance over to see Potter wetting a washcloth. The man has surely missed his calling as a nurse given his unstoppable penchant towards wounds of any sort. "Why do you fight?" He asks as he turns the water off and comes to stand in front of me.

I shrug as he grabs one of my hands and presses the wet cloth against the broken skin. "It steadies me." I tell him, giving him the simplest explanation that I can. He nods with his head bowed over his work but I can see the slight frown anyways and it pricks at me for some reason. "Why?"

His frown twitches up for a moment as he angles his eyes up to meet mine. "I suppose I just don't understand it."

I quirk an eyebrow. "You suppose?"

He holds my hand up, inspecting the thoroughness of his work for a moment before grabbing the other one. "I don't understand why you willing hurt yourself all the time."

"That's not the point of it Potter."

He drops the cloth and runs his thumb over my battered hand. "Then what is the point?"

"I already told you." I sigh, watching the movements of his fingers moving over mine.

"Okay so it steadies you...so what happened today that made you jump in the ring?"

Oh how clever of him, finally learned the art of leading a conversation did he? "Madame Safiya gave me the details of the fighter I'm to compete against next week." I tell him, his head finally lifting to look directly at me.

"Are you worried?" He asks, his thumb moving to rub little circles over the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist.

"No." I let my head thunk back against the cupboard, the spike of pain combating the butterflies taking flight in my stomach all of a sudden. "He shouldn't pose a problem."

"Than what was it that unsettled you?"

I look away and pull my hand out of his grasp, curling my fingers around the edge of the counter. "She asked about you again."

"And?" He sounds much too apathetic about it, not even a spark of worry in his tone.

"And I don't like her interest as you very well know. I'm not particularly keen in getting into it again unless you've changed your mind about going home."

He steps back over to the sink, rinsing out the blooded washcloth with a sigh. "Have you changed your mind about coming with me?"

"No." I watch the pink water swirl down the drain with a vague curiosity, there's something strange about watching and letting someone else tend to my injuries.

"There you have it then."

"Sometimes I wonder if you were put on this earth simply to make my life more difficult Potter." I grumble, slipping from the counter and walking over to the table I snatch up the yellow envelope - pulling from its depth a slim disc holding footage of my new opponent’s latest fights.     

Potter snorts and dries his hands. "I think you have that backwards."

"Mhmm you would, grab the crisps yeah?" I say flashing the DVD at him. "Time for my research."

I don't wait for him to respond before heading back out of the kitchen, slipping the disc from its sheath and inserting it into the player. It hums as it clicks on, the buzz of electricity and whirling gears something that still catches me by surprise even after all these years. Arranging myself on the bed against the headboard, I let my fingers fidget against my thigh.

All in all that went much better than I could have hoped for and I realize with a faint smile that maybe he's not as predictable as he used to be. In something’s anyway.

Potter bounces down onto the bed beside me, throwing an unopened bag of crisps at me as he grabs the remote from the nightstand. "So this is the guy you'll be fighting?" He asks as he presses play.

I nod. "Yeah Troy Kennedy, he's American I believe." The movie starts jerkily before focusing in on their opening Ram Muay. It's strange seeing it on film, this being only the second time I've watched a future opponent on the telly, and I don't quite know how I feel about it. It makes it all seem so distant and unrelated.

"So I got an owl today." Potter mutters suddenly, his legs shifting a bit nervously.

Reaching over, I pluck the remote from his hands and pause it. Staring at him silently for a moment, I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't, he just keeps looking back at me like he's afraid if he blinks wrong I'm going to pummel him. "A letter I take it?" I ask tightly _._

"Um...yeah..." He runs a hand through his hair, his mouth moving around a series of different noiseless sounds. "Yeah see every year around this time, Ron and Hermione take some time off...and you know since I haven't been back in so long...they, um, they've taken to visiting me wherever I am..." He pauses and sends me furtive glances between staring at his hands. "So yeah anyways...it's um time for their trip...so..."

"Potter...do you think that's wise considering everything that's going on?" I let my eyes narrow slightly, the thought of seeing them again causing some sort of emotion that's hanging just out of reach, waiting for me to settle on the idea and grab onto it.

"I think I'd have to be dead for them not to come." He grumbles, plucking at his jeans. "But you know I think it will be alright, I bet they'll be happy to see you."

I suck on my tongue for a moment as I mull over his words. "Do they know I'm here?"

He shakes his head. "No, you asked me not to tell anyone."

"Then I don't see why they need to know when they come." I say with finality, leaning my head back and fiddling with the remote. Damn Granger and Weasley, they always had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times.  

"But...they'll be here for a whole week." Potter says softly and I don't respond, what am I supposed to say? That I don't want to go that long without seeing him? Because bloody hell the more I think about it the more that idea sounds terrible. Somehow without me even noticing it I've grown rather used to his presence and the warmth it brings, despite the added turmoil.

I realize that I like waking up and seeing his scruffy face and bedraggled hair and droopy eyes that don't fully open until he's had his morning coffee. I like the amused way he watches me from over his notebook as I go about my morning warm-up. I like how the shower smells like him, how he's crammed a portion of his clothes into the bottom of my wardrobe. I like how he stops by the gym with lunch sometimes, how he's somehow managed to become friendly with all the other patrons in such a short amount of time. I like cooking together than eating our dinner at the once lonely table. I like how he sits right next to me on the bed while we watch those favorite old movies of his, how he can't seem to fall asleep on his little cot without rambling off some random nonsense to me in the pitch black.

I know I shouldn't but god help me I do. And maybe that's exactly why I need to take a break from him.

"I'll tell them not to mention...you know." Potter interjects at my silence, twisting at his waist to face me and I can see his trepidation shinning so clearly on his face. He's worried I'm going to say no, worried I'm going to refuse his presence while they’re here, worried I'll make him leave. 

 

He's worried for all the wrong reasons.

"Potter..."

"Just don't say no yet, think about it okay?" He rushes to say before I can finish my thought and with a moment’s hesitation I nod, his breath releasing on a long exhale as he slumps back against the headboard. "Thank you." He says quietly, his head dropping to rest on my shoulder.

I stare down at his messy locks as the movie clicks back on and I start to thread one of the new patterns he's falling into - because he always touching me when he's nervous, when he's afraid I'll pull away and I realize it's just like my fighting. He's grounding himself, reassuring himself. With a resigned sigh I let my cheek fall against his temple and feel the last bit of tension edge out of him. I'm going to regret seeing them, just like everything that seems to be happening lately but I won't refuse them.

Because I can't seem to gather enough energy to push him out any longer.


	12. The Wanting Comes In Waves

  
  
  
  
"You are absolutely no help."

 

I glance up with a quirked eyebrow, my fingers drifting away from the stand filled with exotic fruits and dried meats. "And that's surprising?" I ask, trying to keep a smile in as Potter crosses his arms and all but stomps his foot in frustration.

"Yes actually, isn't shopping like one of your things?" He grumbles, looking rather accusatory which only adds to the humor I can feel blooming in my chest.

I nod and move around the cart with the twining flowers running up and down its length, drawing myself closer to him and away from the bustle of people. "When I was younger but in case you haven't notice I don't particularly like crowds anymore." His frown twitches and I try to ignore the scratch of arms and legs brushing into me on accident as all the natives and tourists alike weave throughout the market. "I'm not all together sure how you even managed to talk me into this in the first place."

He smiles coyly, a faint blush tinting his cheeks before he clears his throat with a little cough. "Lucky timing?" He rocks on his heels and tugs me to the next stall that houses an array of colorful hand weaved silk wraps.

Lucky timing indeed - I had been in the middle of my morning sit-ups when the bastard swept in from the bathroom, his hair dripping wet and clad only in a pair of sleep pants, and promptly flopped down on my bed. Then he had just stared at me for a good five minutes until I couldn't take it any longer and looked over at him, which had been a tremendous mistake. He always looks much too appealing after showering, the water somehow managing to tame his hair for a few brief moments before evaporating.

When it was all said and done I had gotten caught off guard as he prattled off, my eyes glued to a drop of water clinging to a curl around his ear before dropping off and running down his neck and into the hallow of his throat. Thus I was duly distracted and embarrassed and frustrated and I found myself mumbling a 'yeah sure' without really knowing what I was agreeing to.

Leading us here, to a crowded street market searching for a present for Granger and Weasley. Apparently it's some sort of tradition - Potter buys them something local and they bring him...well I actually don't quite remember because he was talking about it while kneeling on the floor and rummaging around in the bottom of the wardrobe looking for a pair of trousers.

 

And that sight was just cruelly taunting.

"Just pick something Potter, we've been here all afternoon." I grumble, feeling hot and tired and very uncomfortable with all the press of people. Yet all in all, I'm doing relatively well, not falling into vertigo and melting down being a rather momentous achievement. I should feel happier about it.

"I don't know...I mean do you think she'll like this?" Potter picks up a beautiful wrap made of shimmering reds, oranges, and yellows, creating the illusion of the sun setting around your shoulders. "It's pretty right?"

I trail my fingers over the incredibly soft material and smile lightly - my mother would have loved it and I can almost see it draped along her gentle curves, hugging her and providing warmth to her natural winter looks. I let my hand drop and divert my attention back to the present situation, the thought of my long lost mother still stinging in the hallow of my heart. "It is but perhaps a book is better suited for Granger."

Potter rolls his eyes and huffs. "She's always getting books."

"That's because she loves them." I point out. "But this will do as well I suppose, won't clash horribly with her complexion or anything."

Potter smiles with a little laugh, folding the warp carefully in his hands. "Oh see now there's the Draco I've been looking for since we got here." He shakes his head and holds up his choice to the merchant, indicating his desire to purchases it. "I'm absolutely rubbish at this sort of thing."

"You've gotten a slight better at it." I mutter, eyeing the way his simple vintage red shirt falls against the angles of his body, his jeans hugging his hips in just the right places. He still dresses drably and in clothes much too large for him from time to time but not always, it's a bit uncanny how he can switch back and forth between the styles without a bat of the eye - like he doesn't even notice doing it.

He jerks his head back over to me, blinking like he can't quite believe that I just complimented him before his mouth splits into a wide grin. "You think?"

I start moving past him, trying to give off an air of indifference. "Don't let it go to your head, it's not that big of an achievement."

"Coming from you it is." He calls after me as I pick at the offerings in the next stall, lovely carved figures of wood and jade. "Okay so now Ron. Any ideas?" He asks as he comes up next to me, his new purchase wrapped in brown paper under his arm. 

I shrug, looking over the tiny carved animals before me. "How about a little marble weasel?" I ask with a sly smirk.

Potter snorts and looks around the vicinity. "Right, I'm sure he'd love it." He says sarcastically. "Come on if you want to leave soon, then help me find something good."

Shoving my hands in my pockets we meld with the flow of people moving between the stands, keeping our eyes out for interesting looking wares. "Honestly Potter I don't know why you think I could pick something out for Weasley. I could make the man furious, upset, indigent, confused, embarrassed, nervous, shocked, and even produce a rather impressive blush all relatively quickly but I do believe that picking a gift he'd enjoy is beyond my skill set." 

He laughs again, the merriment that today has brought him shinning on his face. "Very true, I've seen you manage that all in the course of one action before."

"It's a rare talent indeed." I return his smile, the hot sun beating down on my neck and giving an odd sort of glow to our surroundings, the crowd pulsing in the waves of heat like reflections on water. And Potter's riding atop it like an illusion bent on being reality, his grin much too wide as he bites into the corner of his bottom lip. "What are you thinking?" I ask as he leads me down a turn in the street, bringing us through a slightly darker and even more crowded path.

"It's just good to see you really smiling...I've missed it."

"Getting sappy on me Potter?" I ask, surprised by the teasing in my voice.

"That depends." He touches my shoulder firmly as a stall catches his attention, pulling me with him over to it. "Are you going to get all stoic again if I do?" He stares at me with an intensity that's difficult to digest in the middle of the market, my mind already fuzzy from the heat and the perfumed air and mass of people.

I know the answer should be yes - that being stoic is much safer but I can't seem to care about that right now. Because at the moment I feel several years younger, before everything became twisted and god I just want to be...normal, carefree for one little moment. So with my mind floating in a bubble of frozen time, I let myself smirk at him, capturing his fingers as they fall from my arm and using them to tug him closer.

He stumbles a step and catches himself with a hand on my shoulder. "Are you complaining?" I ask, staring down into his rounded eyes. "Because I know I do stoic rather well..."

He gulps and doesn't move to right himself. "Yes you do. Still...I think I'll take the smiling." He says quietly, almost too lowly to be heard amongst the shouts of merchants yelling out their prices and divine wares.

"And whys that?" I ask in a rush that gushes the words out before I can think better and retract them.

Day by day, inch by inch, he's been breaking down my resolve and now I feel laid out and dizzy in the crowded square, acting without letting my mind connect to their logical consequences. And then there's his immediate proximity, he's always been all consuming, no matter what he's doing - the man could command thousands with a sigh. No one has ever affected me like he does, no one has ever touched me like his hands have, like I'm...worth the price.

He glances at our entwined hands at his waist, a lazy smile spreading up his mouth. "Bet you could guess."

"Does it have to do with my dashing good looks?" I mutter, searching the lines of his face and feeling myself slip away and maybe...maybe...

Maybe out here in the heat and the hustle and the semblance of isolation I could forget, for now, for a moment. Maybe I could have this before Granger and Weasley come and steal him away as I know they must. I know I need to convince them of that, to take him back home when they come, I came to that dreaded realization a couple days ago. There are few things that can bend Potter, his friends being my brightest hope in securing his safety.

"Mhmm." He nods, sidestepping a group of young children brushing past his legs without even looking down at them. "You know whenever you smiled in school I was convinced you were up to something." He finishes as he settles his hip against the long wooden pole at the corner of the stall.

"Want to know a secret?" I ask and he nods again with an ever growing smile, his back easing against the pole and all he's missing is the Hogwarts uniform to complete the picture - looking so very much like he did all those days he spent stalking me in sixth year. I lean in casually and whisper in his ear, "I was half the time, the other half I was just enjoying watching you get all flustered and frustrated with trying to catch me at something."

"So you liked watching me huh?" Potter raises one thick eyebrow with a chuckle muffled against his pressed lips.

"Yes." I mirror his expression and press a little closer. "But not as much as you liked stalking me."

His bottom lip springs free from his teeth as his mouth parts with a blushing smile that can't decide if it wants to be shy or an outright grin. "That's all conjecture. I seem to recall you always shouting at me from across the Great Hall trying to get my attention."

"And it wasn't hard because you were already staring at me." I counter and his flush deepens to a lovely shade of red. It's so strange, speaking of our youth in such an untroubled way, teasing with gentle probes as one of Potter's legs presses into the side of mine.

"Seems we're at an impasse then." He mumbles with his head tilting further towards me, his fingers still barely tangled in mine in a feather light grasp that's sending little shivers up and down my spine.

Funny how so simple a touch is capable of that.

I find my heart speeding up a little as I'm forced another step closer by a passing trio of women, Potter's warmth sinking into my already overheated flesh at the minuscule distance between us now. And I can't decide how to continue, if I should keep sinking us into school day remembrances or maybe traverse a little further down the road to the more complicated days of hunting horcruxes. Either way it's odd to realize that I want both of those instead of trying to flee from their memories.

The decision is made for me a moment later as Potter reaches up and starts fiddling with the collar of my shirt, clearly debating his next words, and I find myself with no urge to stop him and remove his hands from me. Quite the opposite actually.

"Draco, I..." He huffs with his own frustration and blinks rapidly at me for a moment before leaning his head back and fixing me with a long look that's glowing in his emerald eyes. The emotions fitted in his gaze are starting to make my head swim, my tongue growing thick in my mouth as I teeter on the edge - leaning further and further away from the frantic 'no, no, no' repeating itself over and over again inside my mind.

"Yes?" I prompt and his fingers curl around the neck of my shirt, pulling with just enough pressure to draw me nearer if I decide to let it.

I find myself giving into it, letting his fist drag me closer, when everything inside me freezes in an instant as my eyes catch sight of something just over his shoulder. It's only a glimpse of wild black hair, thick tangling curls dancing over a long pale face and descending to merge against a tight black dress. A twisted wicked smile with a laugh that seems to carry like a phantom on the breeze before she turns and sways through the crowd that's parting before her in a swarming mass that opens and swallows, opens and swallows.

"Bella." I whisper, all the blood draining from my face, my heart stopping in my chest as I push Potter back from me with jerking movements. My feet rushing past him on their own, a loud breathing in my head as I shoulder through the people that are between us, a lock of black and a flash of a demented grin taunting me forward. I chase after her without any sort of plan, the sight of her sending a nervous chill all over my heated body and I feel a sheen of sweat break out across my skin.

"Draco it's time, it's time, it's time..." Bellatrix's voice pierces straight through my thoughts, like she's tangling herself around me, a sharp throbbing pain scorching me with each crackling syllable.

I will kill her, I will drain the life from her, how the fuck is she here!

"Don't close your eyes." She laughs through my bones and I feel my body snap forward and jerk like she's dragging a curse along my skin.

I run through the street, turning this way and that, the ghost of my Aunt before me until there's nothing there, her disembodied laugh dying on the wind - my hands gripping in my hair as I spin around, suddenly panicking at having lost sight of her, for now she could be anywhere, could pounce unnoticed at any moment. There's a strangled cry falling from my lips and then Potter's grabbing my arm, dragging me off to the side as I mutter incoherently, my eyes still roving in a desperate attempt to catch sight of her.

He pulls me down an alley, my mind barely grasping onto our surroundings as I feel myself tearing apart with fear, his arm all of a sudden appearing around my waist as he tugs me against him. "Sorry." He says into my ear right before I feel the nauseating pull beneath my navel, my body compressing and sinking and ripping with such a severe nausea that it threatens to steal my consciousness and then only a split second later we're landing in the middle of my flat.

With a gurgling gasp, I scramble to the bathroom, falling with a painful thud against the tile and promptly up-heaving my lunch into the toilet as I feel sweat slide down my face. When I've expelled all I can, I let my body sink down against the cabinet, my eyes squeezed shut. There’s a shifting of air and a rustle of clothing as Potter slides down to sit next to me, his hand brushing the hair from my sticky forehead.

"I'm sorry about that, I just needed to get you out of there fast." Potter says quietly.

"Did you see her?" I ask, my voice strangely rough and scratchy.

"Bellatrix?" He clarifies and I nod without opening my eyes as I concentrate on settling the sickness that's humming through me. "No...Draco she couldn't have been there."

"How do you know?" I ask, prying my eyes open and lolling my head on the wood to look at him. "Did you kill her too?" I spit the words out with an unbalanced anger, almost hoping beyond hope that he'll say yes. That he ended her life and watched it drain from her face himself. That he killed her the day he murdered Amycus - that my mad Aunt who tormented my mind and soul met the same end as the man who twisted my body.

His jaw tightens as he shakes his head. "No she escaped before I...but she was captured later and died in Azkaban last year." His hand moves to grasp mine, his fingers tangling with mine on my thigh.

I let out an unhinged sounding laugh as I stare at our entwined hands and shake my head. "She was there Potter, I could feel her, I could feel her mind trying to wrap around mine...she's here..."

Potter sighs softly and tightens his grasp on me. "It wasn't her, Hermione owled me the newspaper clipping, she died in her cell, they buried her body at sea."

"You think I'm hallucinating? Think I've gone mad then?" I ask with wave of panic, because no matter how many times he says it, I know she was there. Which means she either didn't die or she's come back from the grave to haunt me for all eternity.

"I think..." He pauses and waits till I look up and meet his eye. "I think maybe you were scared and..."

"And what?" I demand.

"And that you can't let yourself be happy so your minds playing tricks on you." He says very quietly, holding my gaze and refusing my retreat. "I think you've held yourself in for so long that you’re terrified of letting yourself out. You were different this afternoon and I think that started freaking you out." He pauses as I look away, my throat constricting. "But Draco, you don't need to be afraid, no one’s going to hurt you again." He touches my cheek and turns my face towards him. "I promised I'd wait for you to be ready to talk about it and I will, I'll wait as long as you need, but you can't keep going on like this. I can see you want out, I can hear it in your voice when you let your guard drop when you think I'm not noticing, I can see it when you look at me. There's a part of you that's screaming to be released...stop letting it imprison you."

"Some prisons are necessary."

He shakes his head sadly again. "No, they’re not."

"I wasn't imagining things Potter." I mutter, rising to my feet and keeping my gaze away from him. "I have to go, I need some air." He's still sitting on the bathroom floor, motionless, as I walk out - my strides swift and mechanical as I sweep out the door.  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
Bellatrix is here.

I know she is, there' a heaviness that shrouds all those around her and it's draping over me. Phantom or not that cloak of depression is as real as any flesh and bone, her power unhindered by the grave. She's come back to replace the garment back over me, perhaps in rage at Potter haven broken her block. Whatever the reason, whatever the method, she's back and the shadows are growing and jumping from their corners.

"Pull it back Dray!"

I blink and gasp in long abandoned air, my vision slowly refocusing as my fists fall still at my sides, my fingers clenching around the black wraps. "Alright?" I ask, clasping Caleb's wrists and pulling him up from the floor, a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wobbles for a second on his feet with a dazed sort of expression that gets quickly shoved away.

He dabs the red stream away with the back of his hand, an uneasy look in his eyes. "Yeah. Everything okay with you?" He asks and I guiltily eye the bruises forming on his sides and shoulders. "You seem distracted."

I nod while readjusting myself to my surroundings, the familiar gym with its familiar patrons, the darkness that is Bella encroaching on the edges. I feel bad for having taken my paranoia out on Caleb and for allowing it to divest my focus until I had become lost within the dance of limbs.

 

"Maybe I'm a bit tired." My voice sounds convincing enough and maybe it's because I am tired. Exhausted even. But I don't know when I'll be able to really sleep again. A long run followed by a few hours of intense training and a couple rounds of sparing hasn't eased my mind in the way it should or that I'm hinging on.

"Office. Now." Donnie catches my eye and with his strong jaw clenched against whatever he wishes to say, turns and walks away.

"Sorry about that." Wiping the sweat from my brow, I feel oddly unbalanced on the spot, like there's something more I should be saying to Caleb but nothing solid comes to mind.

"Don't worry about it." Caleb smiles. "It's good practice for me."

"You're a good soul." I tell him sincerely before crouching and slipping through the ropes of the practice ring.

"You say the oddest things sometimes." He calls at my back with a chuckle as I make my way to the office.

Donnie's sitting in his chair, a glass of water gripped tightly in his hand, his eyes following me all the way inside. "Shut the door." He instructs.

I click it shut behind me and drop into one of the empty chairs, my fingers prying the wrap loose on one hand and slowly begin the process of unraveling it. "What is it?"

"Caleb is not your punching bag." He says strictly and I open my mouth to object or argue or maybe just apologize but he holds up a hand, commanding me to stay quiet. "I know you have a lot on your mind but you crossed a line at the end there and you are not to forget that, understand?" I nod at his pause, feeling guiltier and guiltier with every passing moment. It was never my intention to hurt him. "Good. Now go home."

"What?" I ask a bit startled by that. Surely he isn't that mad at me? Caleb wasn't even that bothered by the rather harsh treatment that shouldn't have entered a friendly sparing ring.

"Go home and cool off and take care of whatever has got a hold of your mind. Your fight’s in a few days and I need you focused." Donnie intones very matter factually, the perspiration on his water glass beading and running down over his fingers.

The wrap springs free with a sharp tug, my teeth sinking into my tongue, because he's right. I've lost my focus, the one thing I've always been able to rely on in a fight, in my life. It’s like it's been plunged in the Arctic sea, frozen in place and only accessible with a chisel and nail. Damn Bellatrix, only a glimpse and she's fastened a hold to it. "I can stay and help Caleb with his rounds." I offer, uncomfortable about the idea of going home right now.

"I don't think that's what you need right now Dray. You can run him tomorrow." Donnie rubs a hand over the top of his head as he watches me. "Go study Troy's technique some more alright?"

I nod as I free my other hand from its confines. "Yeah alright. I'll see you in the morning then."

 

He waves me away with a distracted limp hand as I gather up my things. Grabbing my bag and shoving the dirty wraps inside, I say goodbye to Caleb and start on my way home. I feel jumpy as I walk down the street, my gaze on a constant vigilant sweep around the nearby area, almost expecting at any moment for her to appear right before me - even though I know logically that she won't. Because Potter wouldn't lie to me, he wouldn't say she was dead if she wasn't but damn it I just can't shake the creepy feeling that she's slipping ever nearer.

At least I'm not hearing her voice in my head any longer.

I arrive back at my flat with my feet feeling like lead in my shoes and my skin sticky from all the sweat beading and drying across my skin all afternoon. With one last glance around me, I fit the key in the lock and push inside.

"Potter?" I call out as I drop the bag off to the side, uncertain if he's here or not, I can't remember if he was going to be around tonight. I'm not sure which response I'd rather get, either the pin drop quiet of him gone or his tight smile that will no doubt be gracing his face given the last conversation we had.

There's the soft scrap of feet against tile coming from the kitchen and I head towards it with a tired sigh. "I was thinking of ordering in tonight, what do-" I stop dead in the archway, my gaze zeroing in on the unexpected scene before me. 

"Mr. Evans, so good to see you." Madame Safiya smiles coolly at me from where she's seated at my table, her legs clad in sleek skintight black jeans crossed at the knee with one gray stiletto heel dangling in the air. Just beyond her on the other side is Potter, his face drawn with lines of polite courtesy and a subdued shine to his green eyes that would look to any on looker like he's perfectly composed and calm with an edge of disinterest.

But I know better, I know the tightest in the corner of his mouth that hints at the coil of muscles that are ready to pounce and move with unexpected force and grace. I recognize the way he's blinking slowly, with eyes that flicker minutely to the side, gauging the three guards grouped against the counter opposite them.

"Madame." I speak slowly and clearly after having calculated all those in the little kitchen. "Did I miss a meeting?" I ask as I lean against the archway.

"No dear I just wanted to stop by to officially meet Mr. Potter." She answers with a gentle wave of her wrist in Potter's direction. "We've been having a nice little chat."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow and take a moment to reassess him, trying to notice any pain in the way he's holding himself but I thankfully can't detect any.

Safiya tilts her chin up with what could almost be construed as a smirk. "I invited him to join me and a few of my acquaintances for dinner this evening but he politely declined." She glances at Potter, her curved eyebrows rising once. "I'm unaccustomed to having my invitations dismissed as such."

"No disrespect, I'm busy is all." Potter replies with a small incline of his head and I can't help but feel rather impressed at his grace in handling this awkward and potentially dangerous situation. 

"Of course dear." Safiya rises smoothly and Potter mimics her like he was raised with refined manners and not in a little cupboard under the stairs. "Another time then?"

"Possibly." He counters and I bite my tongue against shouting out a loud and resounding 'not a chance in hell'.

"I look forward to it." She takes his outstretched hand, clasping it between her two smaller ones and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

The small action is making my blood boil and when she releases him and turns back towards me I fear my jaw is noticeably taut but I can't seem to loosen the muscles. She saunters over to me with a rigid back and places a hand on my shoulder. "And of course the invitation is extended to you as well darling. I assume the preparations for the match are coming along nicely?"

"Perfectly." I answer tightly, keeping my gaze firmly on her face.

"Very good. I'll show myself out." Safiya brushes past me, her three cronies following stiffly and I stand still and erect without turning around until I hear the door click open and thunk shut, the sudden silence in the flat thick and heavy. 

"Are you alright?" I ask, finally allowing the muscles in my body to relax an inch as I swing my gaze over to Potter.

He has his hands held together behind his back as he nods. "Yeah. I can see why you're not fond of her." He snorts and sends me a lopsided smile.

"What did she want?" I move further into the kitchen and he angles his back away from me, my eyes narrowing at the minuscule but purposeful movement.

"She was intent on trying to figure me out I think. She likes to set traps in her conversations doesn't she?" He explains and shifts again as I take another step closer.

"Indeed. Why are you hiding your hands?"

"Er...I'm not." He stares wide eyed at me, in a goofy 'see how completely innocent and alright I am?' expression that only manages to make me more suspicions. I cross my arms and set my jaw and he grumbles under his breath. "It's nothing really."

"Then show me." I insist. He's grumbling quietly again as he holds his hands out for me to see, two angry red chaff marks marring each wrist like they had been bound together with a line of cutting twine. I reach out and grasp his arm just under the mark, hissing in a breath and silently seething at that damn woman. "What did she do?" I grind out.

"Not much really she just...um took some blood." He shifts on his feet and my eyes snap up to the hollow of his elbow and sure enough there's a needle thin indentation in the middle of a blossoming bruise.

"You let her take your blood?" I ask breathlessly, my chest feeling a bit tight as all the horrendous things a wizard could do with someone’s blood floods my mind, the options are numerous and none of them good.

He seems to sense my line of thought and shakes his head with a huff. "What was I supposed to do? Stun them all? Try to run away? They're muggles, there can't be too many awful things she can do with it is there?"

"I don't know." My fingers curl around his marred skin that's hotter to the touch than the rest of him. "But damn it Potter this can't be anything good!"

"I understand that." Potter says sternly. "But there's nothing we can do about it now, so what would you have me do? Worry myself sick over it? Most likely it will be nothing. I know that head of yours is bursting with all those awful Dark Arts books of yours but you have to remember that she's not a witch, she can't do any of that stuff." He reaches out and winds his other hand through my free one. "I'll ask Hermione to look into it when she gets here tomorrow though."

I let out a tired chuckle, grasping tightly to his fingers and running my thumb over his red wrist. "Oh that's just brilliant Potter, let your friends know that I've put you in this position. They'll hate me all over again." I chide but there's a part of me that latches onto the idea. Granger has always been amazing at digging up the most obscure things, perhaps she could come up with some plausible explanations as to why Madame Safiya wants his blood.

My eyes droop heavily as we stand silently in the kitchen for several long minutes, every last drop of energy fleeing my overworked body, as my mind tries to work around this new development. But there's too many twists and turns, too many knots and overpasses and hidden agendas and smoothly placed half-truths that I can't catch onto it all - not now with how emotionally, mentally, and physically drained I am.

"You look like you’re going to keel over." Potter mumbles and starts pulling me gently towards the other room. "Come on, let’s get you to bed."

I let him lead me, not even caring that I haven't eaten or that I really should shower or try to convince him to leave again or at least force my head down until I figure this whole maze out. I stare quietly out the window, my throat swallowing down a protest as he drops my hand to rummage around in the wardrobe.

It's stupid, we're not any safer because of a silly handhold but somehow I feel distinctly more agitated as soon as his warm palm and long fingers part from mine.

He hands me a set of pajamas and I head to the bathroom and prepare for bed with measured movements, suddenly nervous of what my dreams might bring tonight.

Don't close my eyes.

That's what Bella had said and it feels as if she's looped an anchor around my conscious, sticking my weary eyes open, and making me fear the night more than I have in a very long time.

 

I find my fingers running the length of the counter in a one, two, three, four up and one, two, three, four down methodical procedure before I even realize I'm doing it. With a muttered curse I pull my hand back like I've been forcing it over a burning stove and exit the loo, slipping beneath the thin covers carefully.

Potter snaps the curtains shut, blocking out the setting sun and blinking street lamps. "Night Draco." He says quietly as I watch his darkened form move across the room.

"Potter?" I hesitate as he turns towards me, waiting silently for me to finish my thought. I fiddle with the sheet pooled about my waist and clench and release my fist, my eyes screwing shut for a moment as I battle with myself. "Will you stay?" I ask quietly, whispering around the taunting voice of my Aunt.

I can see him cock his head, even in the poor lighting and its four painful beats later before he responds. "I wasn't planning on leaving."

"No I mean..." I curse my own timid voice, I sound small. I sound like a victim and that is not okay. But god I can't image traversing through this night alone, not after seeing my Aunts ghost, not after Safiya bound Potter and pierced him in my own home. "Will you stay...here...with me tonight?" I finish, letting my hand fall to the space beside me, his eyes strangely glowing in the room as they follow and fix on the empty expanse.

I can hear him breathing as he nods, his movements far more unsteady than normal as he tugs his shirt over his head, and crawls onto the bed. He sits on his knees, staring at me and I'm both glad for the darkness obscuring our features and wishing to flip on a light so I could clearly read his expression. "Draco...about this afternoon at the market-"

"Let's let it lie for now." I whisper, scooting down until I'm lying on my side facing him, watching the black lines of body as he mimics me. He rests his hand inches from my own and since I've already tipped over the line by requesting this of him, I let my fingers inch forward and rest gently over his. "Thank you." I breathe in his scent and feel my eyes flutter with the force of my exhaustion and his presence.

He twines his fingers through mine and I'm struck with the realization that somehow, for some reason, we keep ending up holding hands today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello out there! Anyone still reading *looks around nervously*...


	13. Ghosts In My Head

_ Italics = flashback to seventh year _

  
  
  
_There's a candle flickering in a lone window on the second floor of Shell Cottage, the little flame so dismal a sight when compared to the vast twinkling stars overhead that are shinning so incredibly bright._  


 

_ Thousands and thousands of stars burning so fiercely we can see them all this way through time and space. I wrap myself up in their company and let my eyes trace their shapes in the endless black of the night. Pulling the thick jacket tighter around my ever thinning frame, I quietly recite the constellations, motionless against the salty breeze that cuts through me atop the cliff. _   


 

_ "Couldn't sleep?" _   


 

_ I shake my head lightly. "You?" I ask as Potter lowers himself down onto the cold jagged ground beside me, his eyes sliding longingly and painfully down the worn path towards where Dobby's grave stands. _   


 

_ The grave Potter dug with his own strength, laying the freed house elf who had given his life in rescuing us all from the Manor down in the ground like a respected citizen. I never understood their relationship, not really, not until I saw the knife embedded in Dobby's chest, smiling with his wide mouth as Potter held him. Not until that moment when the tears had welled in his green eyes and spilled over his dark lashes as he covered his deceased friend with dirt. _   


 

_ "Too much on my mind." Potter answers quietly and I find myself nodding again. _   


 

_ It's been three days since we escaped, three days of staying in Bill and Fleur Weasley's cramped home. Three days of Granger slowly recovering from her extended torture, three days of Weasley camped by her side. Three days of started sentences and quick endings, three days of silence and mourning. I haven't seen much of Potter in all that time and when I do it's always strained and quiet, always only broaching one topic. _   


 

_ How we're going to break into Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts and steal the next horcrux - Helga Hufflepuff's cup. It makes sense the Dark Lord entrusted her with one of his detached bits of soul, she's his most crazed and unshakably devoted servant. _   


 

_ I've been mostly trying to stay out of everyone's way. Isolating myself with my tremulous thoughts and shielding away from the glares of Thomas, the knowing smile of Lovegood, the confusion of the eldest Weasley, and the guilt of looking at Granger's pale expression. _   


 

_ Potter hasn't brought up the unexpected kiss or how he shoved me out of the Manor, so to speak, and neither have I mentioned it. It has become our gigantic pink elephant in the room and I can't even shout at him about it no matter how much I want to. Because, besides the fact that he's rather depressed about the house elf, I haven't been able to get the feel of his mouth on mine off of me and my mind keeps replaying those few seconds where he seemed to be trying to tuck me into himself. _   


 

_ I keep thinking about the look in his eye as he pushed me backwards, like he wanted to leap forward and catch me and at the same like he was trying to hold back tears. And I found myself suddenly realizing one morning during a silent breakfast as his gaze focused on me only to jump away the moment I glanced up for the hundredth time just what exactly it is I've been feeling towards the Boy Wonder that has been creeping up on me for the last few months. _   


 

_ I haven't wanted to face it, haven't wanted to name it, but now with just one taste of him I can't ignore it any longer. _   


 

_ It's glaring at me, demanding I pay proper attention to it. _   


 

_ At least I can't be disowned all over again because of it. _   


 

_ But then...he hasn't said anything, hasn't even hinted at anything and maybe it was just some sort of manifestation of fear at us dying. Or perhaps it was something even smaller, a ruse to knock my senses from me enough that he could have the house elf take me away without a hitch. Maybe that was all it was and I hate that that thought is keeping me up at night and making me feel stupidly depressed. _   


 

_ There are far more important things to be contemplating, far more horrible things to be depressed about... _

 

_ Plus I think the world would stop turning if Harry Potter actually fell for Draco Malfoy. I know I feel as if it has just from that one brief kiss. _   


 

_ "How's Granger?" I continue to trace the stars overhead and huddle closer into myself. I haven't seem much of her lately. It feels strange...wrong somehow for me to be near her now, when she went through hell in my grand old home. _   


 

_ It's just my luck that as soon as everything was going smooth between the four of us that something like this would happen. _   


 

_ "She's getting better I think. She's strong." Potter nods to no one in particular as he speaks and there's a small cloud of his breath rising to mingle with the night as he exhales deeply. "What about you? You mentioned your mum...?" He asks after a moment’s hesitation, his shoulder nudging lightly into mine. _   


 

_ I draw my wand from my pocket and hold it between my hands, my eyes narrowing and focusing in on it completely. "This is my wand you know." I mutter and Potter cocks his head, a question on his lips. "She had it. My mother. She came to me holding it like it was her own. I didn't even realize it wasn't hers until after we buried Dobby." _   


 

_ He reaches out and runs a finger around the width of it, his face scrunching in concentration. "Why do you think she did that?" _   


 

_ "I think she wanted us to escape all along." I explain with a tinge of melancholy. I've replayed those moments with her over and over in my head and that is the only explanation that makes any sense but that means..."Right before I attacked her she told me," I pause and drag in a breath, hearing her voice float through the night and straight through my being. "She told me to remember her kindly." _   


 

_ "So your mum helped saved us." Potter concludes and I nod a bit reluctantly. _   


 

_ I almost wish she hadn't because even though I know there's a good change things would have turned out differently if she hadn't, she's now being subjected to the Dark Lord's wrath. And he is ruthless and evil and god I can't stop hearing her voice twisted in an awful distortion of her elegant lilt. _   


 

_ I don't even know if she's still alive anymore. _   


 

_ There's a good chance that she's not. _   


 

_ He nudges me again and I blink away the tears that are trying to form behind my eyes, she would not thank me for them. His hand reaches out, his fingers coming to a jerking halt halfway towards my face, before a muscle in his cheek twitches and he carefully tucks a piece of my dirty fringe away from my vision. "She loves you." He says quietly and it feels too much like her funeral’s already been and gone. _   


 

_ Only I wasn't allowed to attend. Wasn't allowed to say goodbye. _   


 

_ "She did I think." I mutter and miss the touch of his fingers the moment they fall away. "Let's not discuss it anymore." I announce abruptly, the emotions pressing forwards towards me too much to handle right now. If ever. "You know, I think Thomas might be planning on murdering me in my sleep." I monotone, rounding my eyes wide in a way that always makes him chuckle. _   


 

_ I'm forever grateful that he senses my need to switch topics and let's it go, an easy laugh rumbling from his chest. "Oh no! Best keep my eye on you then." He smirks, his lips curling expertly and I can't help but smile inwardly at how good he's gotten at it lately. Add on a curved eyebrow and slick his hair and he could fit right into Slytherin. _   


 

_ Until he opens his mouth anyway. _   


 

_ "Shouldn't you be keeping your eye on Thomas? I'm the probable victim here." I point out, tapping my own chest in emphasis. _   


 

_ Potter snorts. "Victim? Nope, don't buy it." He says, propping his hands behind him and leaning back on them. "Slytherins can't be victims to Gryffindors, it's universally impossible. Especially you." He tact's on, his eyes shifting up and down me purposefully. _   


 

_ "That's rather self-righteous of you isn't it?" _   


 

_ "Naw just the truth. But if it makes your faint heart feel better, I'll guard you all night." _   


 

_ I frown and smack his arm, trying to ignore the images that one little comment is weaving in my mind. "I do NOT have a faint heart Potter! I have the courage of a -" _   


 

_ "Lion?" He supplies with an infuriating smile that looks just too damn kissable. _   


 

_ I gape at him for a moment before regathering my composure and turning it into a sneer. "No, not a lion you pompous arse." _   


 

_ "Oh? Than like what?" _   


 

_ I open my mouth then close it a few times like a blubbering fish as my amazing ability to banter completely fails me. "Stop trying to turn me into a good little Gryffindor!" I finally growl, blaming my ineptitude on the hell these last few days have been and not on how he's staring at me with deep set emotions that touch on humor and something more. _   


 

_ "I don't have to try Draco." He says in a voice dripping with false sugar as he reaches up and condescendingly pats my cheek. "Deep down in that icy little heart of yours you're already one, aren't you." _   


 

_ "You take that back." I demand, appalled at the very idea of cladding myself in Gryffindor virtues - but at the same time I can't help feel the spike of joy in my chest because I've missed this, missed talking to him so freely and hearing the tangible emotions course through him. Potter shakes his head and I lean menacingly towards him. "I'll have you know I'm the very definition of Slytherin." I hiss and fight the urge to smack him again as he smiles. _   


 

_ "Really? The very definition huh?" He wets his lips and presses further up on his hands, bringing himself dangerously close to me, to the point where I can feel his warm breath on my face. "Shouldn't you be trying to kill me then?" _   


 

_ My body dips towards him at the darkness overtaking his gaze, my hand finding purchase on the ground on the other side of him. "Is that a challenge?" My voice is huskier than I'm used to, his eyes widening than falling nearly shut and I feel his chest brush against mine as he sucks in a breath. _   


 

_ "Why? Do you have some sort of sinister plan?" He chokes a little on his words, his gaze slipping down to my mouth. _   


 

_ "Perhaps, so you should probably be a good little lion and make a run for it." I mutter, my heart thumping like someone's beating a war drum in my chest. He's so close, another inch and I could feel his lips on mine again... _   


 

_ "What if I don't want to?" He shifts even nearer, his pinky creeping across the dirt to run over the joints in my thumb, a shiver shrilling through me at the innocent and enticing touch. _   


 

_ Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a little bit Gryffindor, to steal a little bit of that famous courage, I could use some right now because the Slytherin persona in me is quelling away from the enormity that this situation could potentially hold. But there's no denying the attraction any longer, not with him nearly in my arms, my body lighting at the heat and closeness of him, and his breath coming in heavy drags that drifts tantalizingly sweet over my mouth. _   


 

_ I'm just settling on tossing away all cation and attacking him when the wind shifts and brings on its crest a sharp scream of terror that I intimately know belongs to Granger.        _   


 

_ Potter and I jump back from each other, both of our glances pulled to the window stirring to life in the little cottage. There's a shuffle of shadows and not soon enough but eventually her cries are falling away in rolling and retreating waves. I let out a breath that had gotten lodged in my chest and feel my ears ringing long after the air grows quiet and still around us once more. _   


 

_ I clear my throat and chance a glance at Potter, his back stiff as an arrow with his gaze glued to the glowing window. "Do you need to...?" _   


 

_ He shakes his head after a moment, a twitch taking up in his hand on his knee. "No, she doesn't need me now." He replies a bit sadly and I think I know what he means as memories of the ginger haired boy holding her shaking form flips through my thoughts. _   


 

_ I nod in understanding and let us fall into the dense silence that's been following us around since coming here, swearing inwardly that we were interrupted only to curse myself all over again for being so selfish about it. _   


 

_ She was tortured for Merlin's sake and I'm pouting because I didn't get to try and kiss Potter? What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I was right, maybe I am pure evil Slytherin. _   


 

_ Potter coughs after several longs minutes, his legs and hands fidgeting in a nonsensical rhythm. "So I've been wanting to talk to you actually..." He trails off and I swear I can smell the nervousness that suddenly rushes violently over him. "To apologize. You were right, I shouldn't have sent you away like that." He kicks at the ground as he talks haltingly, his shoulders heaving with a deep breath. "I just...I didn't want you to get hurt." _   


 

_ Well, I wasn't expecting that. _   


 

_ I glance sideways at him, contemplating the way he's looking anywhere but directly at me as he chews his bottom lip and tugs at his hair nervously. "I don't need protecting." I tell him and he winces a little. _   


 

_ Is that how he seems me? As insignificantly small and unable to defend myself? I suppose there's something fitting about that but god I can't stand that being true. I've been seen as less than him my whole life and I thought that recently...well that he had started seeing me as some sort of equal. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking. _   


 

_ "I know that, it's just..." He growls lowly at himself and I feel a little smile twitch at the corner of my lips. "You know Ginny? Of course you do, ha, but um yeah...Ginny's strong and capable but she's...she's..." _   


 

_ "Potter." I wait till his troubled gaze flicks up briefly to mine. "Is there a reason you’re raving about your girlfriend right now?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to dispel the sudden rise of jealousy that bursts through my chest at the mention of the she-weasel.  _   


 

_ I had forgotten about her and now I feel utterly foolish. Of course he doesn't want me...not when he has the ginger slut. _   


 

_ "She's not my girlfriend." He blurts out and even in the darkness I can see a flush spread over his cheeks but perhaps it's in the way he shifts and bends his head down awkwardly that gives it away more than the change of color. "I mean, we broke up over the summer. But anyway what I'm trying to say is Ginny did need protecting even though she's a pretty strong witch." _   


 

_ "Are you comparing me to that redheaded bint?" I ask incredulously, having no possible idea where he's going with this but I do not like it. Not one bloody bit. _   


 

_ Did he hit his head or something? I feel very much like snapping my fingers in front of his face and demanding he tell me how many fingers and then maybe hexing something just to remind him of who I am. Because Merlin, how am I and that little whore even being thrown together like that in a single thought? _   


 

_ "No! Well...yes...I mean, kinda...er not comparing really...just um yeah..." He laughs anxiously and starts tugging at the high collar of his wool jacket like it's choking him. _   


 

_ "You are making less sense than usual Potter." I drawl and try not to smirk at his obvious discomfort. There's something distinctly...cute...about it. Damn it. "Just spit it out already." _   


 

_ "Right um okay...so, right." He clears his throat and turns towards me, his head tipping, deep swirls clouding his eyes and dragging my breath away from me at their intensity. "So Ginny, I mean...ask me why I um...why I, er, kissed you." He stammers through his words, the last little bit coming out in a hushed squeak like he could barely make himself voice the words 'kiss' and 'you' in the same sentence. _   


 

_ I narrow my eyes and lick my suddenly dry lips, my heart starting to hammer at the odd jumbled request. "What does that have to do with her?" I ask, unable to tear my eyes from his. _   


 

_ "Just do it." _   


 

_ "No Potter you -" _   


 

_ "Harry." He corrects me, his own name coming out like a plea on his tongue as he leans forward, gently capturing my lips with his, effectively chasing away all thoughts of the weasel whore at the overwhelming flood of sensations that the press of his mouth sends rushing through me. _   


 

_ The stars could have all burnt and died, winking from existence in that moment and I wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't have given a damn. _   


 

_ The kiss ends too quickly, never pressing further than a light shiver inducing brush, before he pulls just a breath away, my body following his movement without any prompting on my part. My eyes flutter open as my stomach continues its somersaults, to find him staring expectantly at me. _   


 

_ He's flushing deeply, his lip between his teeth, and his thick lashes are lowered over his vivid eyes in bashful nervousness. He looks like a frightened pup and I find myself wanting to just keep staring at him from this distance for the unforeseeable future for some inexplicable reason. _   


 

_ Maybe it's because the Harry Potter that's sitting almost pressed to me - with the tip of his nose slightly redder than the rest of his face, his hair windblown and smelling of sea salt, his breath coming in sharp intakes through his noise while his eyes search me with a quiet desperation that has my pulse quickening all over again - is so completely different than the hero the world sees and even if it's not true, in this moment, it feels like he's all for me. That this nearly tangible want and the anticipation making his chest hitch is for me alone to see and experience. _   


 

_ I watch my hand lift like it's separate from my person, the back on my knuckles pressing tenderly against his cheek and I swallow thickly at the hot flesh that meets me despite the cold. His eyelids flutter as a grin splits across his features, his hands reaching out to tangle in my hair as he drags himself into me, his lips crashing into mine with a passion and fervor I've never felt before. _   


 

_ It knocks all sense from me as I grip him to me, his body so warm and hard in my grasp, his mouth so hungry and pliable beneath my own, a moan that could be mine or his or both of ours filling the air as we battle for dominance. It's intoxicating and I feel like I'm spinning as my tongue fights with his, his scent and taste filling me so completely that I never want to stop - driving me to a point of desire that makes me want to kiss him for all eternity. His hands tug at my hair, one of my own against his back - keeping him secure against me - the other tangled in his raven locks, bending his head back so I can devour him more deeply. _   


 

_ He groans loudly, the sound vibrating against my tongue and through my chest and I can no longer feel the cold or the biting wind or the salty air - all I can feel and think and know is him. There's a dizziness in my head as we press into each other with nearly painfully desperate hands and kisses that are turning to little nips and gasping for breath without even really leaving the others lips with open mouthed pants that never move further away than a brushing touch. _   


 

_ "Harry." I moan into his mouth, his given name feeling like a bursting release as I speak it. _   


 

_ "Draco." He tears his mouth from mine, drawing out a whining protest from me, his hands slipping down to hold my cheeks - his eyes hooded and dark like an oncoming storm. "So long." He mumbles and through the heaviness of my mind it barely registers that I should ask what he means by that but then he's moving closer, his legs slipping over mine until he's sitting on my lap, straddling me - his mouth descending back onto mine and all coherent thought goes flying out the window in a spine tingling, toe curling kiss. _   


 

_ His arms wind around my neck and I deliriously find my hands slipping through the flaps of his newly opened jacket - the thick black buttons inexplicably having come undone beneath my fingers. I bunch the material of his shirt into my fist at the small of his back, letting my other hand run the length of his side and up to curve around his recently exposed neck. I can feel his hot erratic pulse beneath my fingers and it sends little jolts of pleasure skipping through me as I lean further up into him, our kiss quickly turning sloppy with the speed and force of our moments. _   


 

_ And somewhere the world is surely shifting on its axis as we pour our mutual desire into each other, the air humming with soft moans and gasping groans that the roar of the ocean is trying to drown away. But they fill my ears anyway and make everything distance and fuzzy and heady and with Potter's legs wrapping around my waist I don't know if I'll ever be able to think straight again. I'm quickly growing drunk on his taste and his feel and his sounds and no kiss has even been like this before. _   


 

_ My eyes drift open to stare at his closed lids, my arms tightening around him as he moves over me with a frantic clip to his hands as they run all over my body, setting fire to my skin even through my layers of clothing. That little word that keeps trying to make itself heard in my heart comes pressing hotly forward and in an effort to bat it away once more, I flip him roughly - his back smacking into the ground with his legs still hooked around my hips. _   


 

_ He blinks up at me with a foggy dazed gaze and kiss swollen lips and before he can speak, I rock forward making my lust for him boldly know against his own. His eyes roll back as he arches like a bow strung tight and groans - his hands fisting once more in my hair and yanking me back down into another battle of tongues. _   


 

_ And I know I've fallen, even without naming it. I know it with all that I am. _   


 

 _Nothing will ever be the same again._  
  


 

 

 _****_  
  
  
  
  
  
It's time.

That's what Bellatrix's phantom had chanted in my head in her crackling voice that always dripped with her madness. My dreams had been plagued with her, just as I knew they would, the glimpse of her in the market unleashing a storm of memories to ravish my unconscious mind. It was hours of relieving painful torture at Amycus's hands - the dark haired wizard who preferred muggle techniques of breaking the body while he spouted pureblood superiority and worshiped his recently defeated Lord.

You would think he would have noticed the oxymoron in that.

Between the times I'd spent locked away with him, I was subjected to Bella dancing in and out of my drifting mind that was fast detaching from time and reality as she came to me newly broken each day. And last night she flitted through my subconscious again, prying and searching and I awoke more times than I can count screaming or in a petrified cold sweat.

Potter had been there each time, his arms around me, brushing back my sweaty hair and murmuring soothing words that I couldn't focus on in my ear until the shaking stopped and I'd sag into him. I clutched him, allowing myself to let him wash away the fear and deepest pains the memories drudged up - and he let me sink my nails into his back, let me muffle a scream with my teeth in his shoulder, gratefully didn't mention my tears, never asked about what had woken me, and even laid their calmly as I nearly hyperventilated and just stared wide eyed and unblinking into his green orbs while he ran his hands up and down my back.

That had been the time I had sprung awake from the worst of the dreams - the time it felt like she was in the room and trying to rip my soul open.

Morning came with great difficulty, bringing with it its glowing light and chasing the shadows away, to be swept into the corner for the time being. That soft light brushing through a crack in the curtain is what pulled me from the light sleep I had just managed to fall into only an hour before. I had blinked my puffy red eyes and instead of peeling myself off of Potter immediately as I should have, I had run my fingers down his lightly defined arm and gave myself a moment to soak up a portion of his strength before having to face the day.

He woke a moment later and only then did I realize I had been watching the soft lines of his sleeping face, afraid that if I blinked he'd slip away like dust through a crack. He had smiled at me, brushed a hand through my hair, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and didn't say anything as I pulled reluctantly away.

Because with the morning comes reality and in that reality I do not belong in Potter's arms.

 

Most of the day passed in a surreal blur, like I haven't been able to completely shrug off the drags of sleep. After a quiet breakfast that Potter had to make because my hands wouldn't stop shaking, I left for the gym and he went to meet Granger and Weasley who were portkeying in soon. I did my circuit, pushed myself to my limits, spared with Caleb and a few of the other fighters I haven't really bothered to learn anything about, then took the long way back to my flat for a blood pumping runners high.

All the while the press of my Aunt in the back of my mind like an invasive plague.

Now I'm standing across the street to a cozy, softly lit Italian restaurant marketed completely towards tourists. I can see Potter with his friends sitting at a little table by one of the twin windows and I swallow through a scratchy throat, my hands clamped tightly around the black strap of my messenger bag running across my chest.

Why did I agree to this again?

I tried to talk him out of it, stating that they probably wanted to spend their first day here with just him but he had insisted, digging his heels in per usual. And now I'm expected and judging from the way Potter keeps glancing up towards the door and tapping his fingers against the table, I'm late. Ignoring the little crack, crack, crack in my ears that sounds horribly like Bella's laugh, I square my shoulders and march across the road, a tiny little bell above the door trilling high and light as I push through the door.

Potter catches my eye the moment I step towards their table, his lips curving up into a relieved smile and I realize from the quick blink of his eyes that accompany it that he was nervous I wasn't going to show. I find my own mouth lifting in return and there's no mistaking the quickened thump in my pulse or the sudden dimming of her deranged crackle in my ears as he moves to stand.

I don't want to think about how much I've missed and needed him today.

"Oh Draco!" Granger bounds from her seat and I shift my gaze to really take her in for the first time in seven years. All the rambunctious curls and frizz has left her brown hair that's falling in silky sheets around her shoulders and is pulled lightly back on one side with a deep red clip gleaming with little gemstones. Her figure has filled out nicely, adding a softness that the year we spent together had sharply stolen from her. But most of all I notice with an inward smirk that she still tilts slightly to the left, a by effect of lugging around such heavy book bags for so long. The cut of the dress she's wearing screams practicality but fits her nicely, the black and grays merging elegantly on it.

"Granger." I feel my smile tighten as I come upon them, her arms that hold surprising strength wrapping around my neck and pulling me into an awkward and unexpected embrace. She's never hugged me before. "Long time." I mutter into her hair, briefly catching Potter's amused gaze through her silky strands.

She smells like old parchment and ink and there's something about that that pulls comfortably at my heart.

She pulls back and I feel her large brown eyes searching my face with an unsettling scrutiny. "Too long." She mutters, then shakes her head, taking a deep breath and grinning at me once more. "It's so good to see you." I don't really know what I was expecting when I finally saw her again but this wasn't it. I didn't think...well I didn't think she'd care to ever think about me.

I'm saved from having to force out some sort of reply as Weasley stands smoothly at her side, his long limbs still a tad awkward on his tall frame but not drastically so any longer. He's grown out his hair, the bright red locks neatly brushed and pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of his head, somehow lending on air of distinction to his boyish features. He sticks out a thick hand with a reserved smile and I clasp onto it firmly.

"Hullo Malfoy." He says simply and find myself easing a little bit, glad that at least his reaction is normal enough.

It's so strange having them all here, after all this time.

I nod and let go of his hand. "Weasley." I say, at a loss for anything further to add to it. What do you say to someone who was at best an acquaintance and at worst a hated rival nearly a decade ago?

They slide back into their seats as I pull the bag from my shoulder, rounding the table to claim the empty spot next to Potter. "Hey." He says as we both settle into the solid metal chairs, his hand finding mine beneath the table with tentative fingers that hold their own question. "How was your day?" He asks, the little inquiry holding so much more than a simple polite investment in how someone’s day typically goes.

I twine my fingers through his and find myself wishing I could confide in him that no matter how hard I pushed myself today that my Aunt was till drilling herself through me - my tongue growing heavy with the desire to tell him I missed him. "It was fine." I reply instead, letting the tightening of my grasp on his convey the anxiety I don't feel comfortable speaking aloud.

 

His gaze seems to soften and harden all at once, reading so clearly between the lines in a way that I used to think impossible for him. It's strange being so open with him in this way and yet...freeing.

"So Draco, how long have you been in Thailand?" Granger asks, breaking the silence that had claimed our table.

"About six months now." I mutter, after quickly calculating the days in my head. It's the not the longest I've ever stayed in one place before but it's definitely getting up there.

She smiles fondly, toying with the wine glass before her, a wistful look in her eye. "It's beautiful here isn't it?"

"Quite." I agree, grasping my water glass and sipping down its icy liquid, my gaze straying to the window and the street beyond.

"Harry tells us you’re a...what was it again?" Weasley asks with his arm stretching across the back of Granger's chair. "Some sort of fighter right? Boxing?"

"Muay Thai." I correct and watch as Granger leans into the table with the gleam in her eyes that always takes light when she's about to learn something new. "It's Thai boxing but vastly different than the Western equivalent."

"Nope can't picture it." Weasley chuckles, a friendly smile on his lips even through the admission of his disbelief.

I open my mouth to tell him that he's not the only one, that sometimes, especially in the beginning, that if was hard for even me to believe it of myself but Potter beats me to it. "He's brilliant. You should see him compete Ron." He says with a broad almost triumphant smile.

I turn towards him with a raised eyebrow. "Brilliant?" I quip. The only time he's seen me in a real fight, aside from sparing at the gym, was the first night I saw him. The night I lost.

Potter nods enthusiastically and it'd be almost a bit comical if it wasn't making my stomach flutter funnily. "You know your good and you're rather amazing to watch."

"I thought you didn't approve?" I fight a smile, a warmth spreading through my chest at his praise.

He brushes his thumb over the inside of my wrist in slow circles. "It's not the sport I don't approve of." He mutters, reaching forward and lightly touching the upper corner of my cheekbone where there's the barest blemish left over from the gruesome beating - near invisible unless you knew where to look. "It's some of the fights you get yourself into that I don't like."

"I'd love to hear some more about it Draco." Granger announces and I push down a flush as Potter's fingers fall away, uneasy with the way her eyes are bouncing back and forth between us. "I hear there's quite the tradition wrapped around it?"

I nod, retrieving the square package from my bag and handing it over to her, her brow pulling together in curiosity as she takes it from me. Weasley and Potter exchange glances, watching as she loosens the string of the burlap bag and draws from it a thick hardback book. "I thought you might enjoy learning about it, I haven't read it myself but it's supposed to be the most detailed volume on the subject." I explain, feeling unnecessarily and suddenly nervous of my gift.

She grins as she runs her fingers over the cover. "Muay Thai Through the Ages." She reads the title out loud, hugging the book to her chest and inhaling the pages deeply. "I love it. Thank you Draco."

I incline my head gracefully and ignore the large smile breaking out across Potter's face as she thumbs through the pages reverently.

"So where's my present?" Weasley snickers, the teasing tone taking me by surprise. I don't think he's ever joked with me before.

"My unparalleled company of course." I drawl and he scoffs loudly, taking a large swallow of his beer. It's almost nice, sitting with these people who've know me since I was a spoiled child, with no hostility on their lips, only...joy it seems.

For so very long it's only been me, and then Potter added himself to the mix, dragging with him a sea of issues, but now here I am - holding his hand silently beneath the table, his touch drowning out the madness, his friends smiling at me like they've missed me. It's wonderful and horrible at the same time and I can't really even explain why.

Soon enough we're ordering our dinner, the conversation weaving around what the two of them have been up to since Potter last saw them. Granger's promotion to the deputy head of the Magical Law Enforcement department, Weasley's newest cases as an Auror, their recent engagement (although I couldn't help but be somewhat surprised by this, assuming they would have tied the knot and pumped out a dozen little Weasley's ages ago). They recount the latest news of various friends - Ginny married Neville a few months ago, Fred and George are making near millions in their joke shop, Luna has taken over the Quibbler and wants to know when Harry's going to send in an article, ect...

I sit quietly through it all, smiling tightly and nodding at the right intervals, eating my pasta and taking careful sips of my wine - all the while keeping one eye carefully trained out the window. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, perhaps Madame Safiya, perhaps another vision of Bella, perhaps an Earth ending flood that's bound to hit at any moment because this is all too normal.

 

And nothing is normal and quaint for me anymore. Not for long anyway.

It's all very surreal hearing about everyone from my youth, listening to how their lives have turned out - all of them so nice and settled. Even Neville, a Professor at Hogwarts with a ginger headed adoring wife. It's strange because when you haven't seen someone in so long they freeze in your mind in the moment you last saw them and to me they all should still be there - standing still in that snapshot. It's like a slap across the face to have that image so blatantly demolished.

 

Funny, because I hadn't even realized that I was holding onto those pictures until they shredded them.

"We're thinking of having the wedding over the Holiday's." Weasley pushes the plate he's scrapped clean of every last smudge of food away from him.

Granger beams at her fiancé, placing a light hand on his atop the table. "We know it's been awhile since you've wanted to come home Harry but you have to be there." She pleads with her friend and I can feel Potter shift uncomfortably beside me.

"Of course he'll be there, he's my best man, right mate?"

I cast a discreet sideways glace at Potter only to find him watching me in the same way and I can't help but wonder why he doesn't want to go home, why he hasn't been back in so long. He's never talked about it before and I've never asked. But there's an unsettling little gnawing in my stomach at the thought of him leaving which is absurd given my mission to get him to leave with them at the end of the week.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Potter answers after a beat too long, his smile oddly stretched at the corners like he's making himself try to look overly happy.

"See Moine, there was no need to fret." Weasley chimes, seemingly completely unaware of the tension stringing itself through his best friend as Potter toys with his fork, spinning it through his half eaten fettuccine. "She's been going on about how we might not get you back for it for ages." He rolls his eyes dramatically and I narrow mine, almost wishing to reach across the table and slap that silly smile off his goofy face.

How can he not see how uncomfortable Potter is?

Granger notices though, a little frown in her expressive gaze, a sad quiet sigh on her lips. "That means a lot to us, thank you Harry." She shifts her hand off the oblivious redhead's and stretches it out to grasp Potter's. He squeezes her fingers and offers her a smile of his own. "You’re welcome too Draco, it'd be nice to have you there." Her penetrating eyes swing over to me and it takes all I have not to grasp onto the table at the sudden sense of vertigo.

It tips through me with a crackle of 'it's time, it's time, it's time' and I suck in a breath, glancing quickly out the window and catching a flash of a wild black mane and twirling skirts. I feel a hand squeeze just above my knee and grasp onto it, my fingers causing Potter's nails to sink into my flesh, the touch and sting grounding me again.

"That's very kind but I think I'll have to decline." I reply, shaking my head and finding her gone from the street corner in the next second.

"Well if you change your mind." Granger says diplomatically and I'm grateful she doesn't push, her eyes flicking out the window once before settling back on us with a question she doesn't voice. "Oh Harry, I thought you were going to quit." Her voice is the perfect pitch of a disappointed parent, a deep frown on her pursed lips.

Potter shrugs as he finishes shaking a cigarette from its carton and places it between his lips. "Well I didn't." My brow knits itself together at his snippy tone, unused to hearing it from him.

Granger and Weasley exchange knowing glances as Potter sends the end aflame. "What about the potions? Weren't you going to give them a try again?" Weasley probes, sounding more like he's approaching a skittish wounded animal than his lifelong friend. 

Potter pulls in a drag, holding it in his lungs for far too long, his jaw thrust forward, and I can see the rising defensiveness grow in his eyes. "I don't like them." He mutters after finally exhaling, Granger waving her hand in the air like the smoke is going to knock her over dead right there. "They make me feel all fuzzy."

"Potions?" I wonder aloud, curious as to the real reason behind his smoking, his thumb digging sharply into my knee like a silent punishment for asking.

"For the shaking." Granger supplies which only fuels my confusion and curiosity, her eyes glued to Potter's hand holding the smoldering stick between his fingers.

"Shaking?" I repeat and I hear Potter sigh heavily, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. I watch him carefully, remembering the quiet tremors that starts in his hands as he's pulling out his vice. I had assumed they were some sort of anxious tick or beginning withdrawals, but perhaps not, perhaps there's something more to it. "Your hands?" I expand and he slips his palm out from under mine, holding it up before himself, studying the long digits like they belong to someone else.

"Yeah." He grumbles, jabbing the cigarette in his mouth like it's personally offended him, leaving me feeling very much like our roles have switched. Because now it's me pressing for information that he clearly doesn't want to give and is making him mightily uncomfortable.

"Why?" His lips tighten around the stick, his jaw hard and I hear Weasley grumble god knows what as Granger sighs again.

When he doesn't answer she says his name very softly, holding layers of meaning in her tone, and he closes his eyes and nods. "Yeah alright. The official diagnosis is Complex Post-Traumatic Stress disorder with a helping of Traumatic Grief and a smidgen of Somatization disorder." He lists out, curling his fingers in as he does so.

"What does that mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

He sighs and drops his hand back into his lap. "It means they had no bloody clue what to do with me after the war." 

"You mean you stubbornly refused to fit inside one of their little boxes." I point out, knowing that they would have been desperate to label him neatly and pack him away after the final battle.

 

He bites his lip and gazes past me and into his own memories. "Something like that." There's something about the distance in his eyes, the vacant quality of his voice that tugs at me, almost wishing we were alone so I could pull him into my arms and bring the life back to him. Although I suppose it’s better that we're not, better that I don't.

"And the Healer said you should be taking your potions for it Harry." Granger chides again, Weasley purposefully avoiding her eye and thus keeping from having to verbally agree.

"And I told you that the cigarettes work better." He snaps before a shadow of humor curls his lip up on one side. "I got the idea from Blaise you know."

"Zabini?" I clarify, glancing around the table, completely taken aback. What in the world?

"Yeah he was my, er...roommate." He explains, Granger clicking her tongue and shaking her head, her eyes narrowed so far down that it's surprising she can still see.

His roommate? Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini were roommates? My former closest friend and my...whatever the hell Potter is were damn roommates? When? Why? What the hell?! It simply does not make any logical sense in any sort of the word. "When was this?" I demand, feeling rather like I've been thrown through a sinking hole at the strange news.

"Er mate maybe we should get going..." Weasley mutters but I pay him no heed, my eyes locked with Potter's, trying to pull the answer from him with sheer will.

"After the war." He mutters, breaking eye contact and standing up abruptly.

"I figured that much Potter." I snap as he tosses more than enough money down on the table to pay for our meal. I'm not sure why this is bothering me so much, why it's pricking at my heart.

He cards a hand through his rumpled locks and when he looks back at me it's with eyes that are brimming with a weary calm. "Just...later?" He asks quietly and I nod, unable to push him with the haunted look shadowing his green irises.

 

We shuffle out of the restaurant with strained goodbyes that are filled with probing glances from Granger, uneasy shifting from Weasley, and outright avoidance from Potter. I swallow my relief when Potter stays by my side as we part ways with the other two, his steps quiet and contemplative as we trudge back to my flat.

We don't speak as we get ready for bed, don't break the silence as I flip the lights off and he tugs the curtains roughly shut, both of us lost in our own thoughts that this evening has brought to the forefront of our minds. I can't help but dwell on Potter's diagnosis and just what it means exactly and why he's suffering so deeply from it - besides the obvious of course - as well as how Blaise comes into play in all of this. All the while I turn it over and over there's Bella dancing through me, and as I slip beneath the covers I find myself nearly breaking into a cold sweat just at the thought of repeating last night.

 

But then Potter's sliding in next to me without me even having to ask, his arm slipping around my waist to grab my hand that's resting beside me, his chest fitting close against my back. I should probably put some distance between us but I don't, instead I let out a breath, close my eyes, and let the sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest behind me loll me into a fitful sleep.

 

Tomorrow will come soon enough and with it my hopeful meeting with Granger that I requested in a little slip of paper folded between the pages of the book I gave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU all so much to everyone who took the time to comment! I greatly appreciate hearing from you all, I tend to get a little nervous about my fic's when there's little to no feedback, hard not to get a tad emotional about your writing considering all the time and energy and emotions you put into creating it, so thank you!
> 
> Also I think that this is probably one of my favorite chapters, such a turning point for our boys in both times lines. Hope you enjoyed it too!


	14. I'm Your Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Clarity" by Zedd

  
  
When I arrive at the park the next morning Granger's already there, sitting beneath a tree with a cup of steaming tea in one hand and a book in the other. She looks peaceful, lost in the pages beneath her nose, her head tipping back just barely enough to lift the cup to her lips, her eyes never breaking from the words as she sips.

 

I push the hood from my head and pop the ear buds out of my ears, the sudden end of the pumping music replaced by the gentle breeze blowing across the pond. I feel a knot of tension loosen in my shoulders as I slow my jog, relieved and yet pained that she showed. I wasn't confident that she would. Rubbing a hand over my face, I brush away the slight sheen of sweat and blink my eyes back into focus.

Last night was another long night filled with painful memories, mixed with cruel taunting’s of what my life could have been if things were different. It was a new tactic, almost like Bella wasn't happy enough to simply let me relive my old torture anymore but instead took delight in weaving new ones as well. I know perfectly well Potter says she's dead, know that's most likely true, but...maybe there's a bit of me she latched herself onto, lying dormant until the time was right to reenter my life.

She spoke enough of what lays in my soul for it not to be a completely farfetched premise.

 

I haven't mentioned this to him of course, haven't brought her up again, but I know he knows she's on my mind, I can see it in the way he looks at me. And I could have sworn I heard him cursing her grave at some point last night as he held me spooned against him with his lips pressed against the back of my neck.

"You came." I shove the headphones into my sweatshirt pocket and offer her a small smile as I stop before her.

Her eyes flicker up once then back down, quickly scanning and finishing her sentence before snapping the book shut. "I almost didn't." She informs me, a slight frown on her lips as she shoves the novel in her bag and moves to her feet. "Your note was rather...short." 

"I wanted to speak in person." I tell her and she nods in understanding, falling easily in step beside me as we begin to wonder in a loop around the pond.

"It was not easy getting away from Ron, I don't like having to lie to him, especially about something I have no inclining of." She sips her tea and watches the soft surface of the water before turning her gaze on me.

I chuckle, kicking at a rock and listening to it ping against the ground. "Potter wasn't any easier this morning." I mutter, remembering the heavy stare he leveled me with when I scrambled out of bed, stumbling uncharacteristically over my words before running out the door. Of course it wouldn't have been so difficult if I wasn't so bloody tired and twitchy from my nightmares...and if his arms didn't feel so damn amazing.

"He's living with you?" She probes, shifting her eyes up and down me like she'll be able to formulate the nature of our relationship just by studying my appearance.

"Staying with me, yes." I correct carefully. "That's part of what I need to talk to you about."

"I see." Granger draws in a breath and stops in her tracks, pinning me with a look that makes me feel like one of her books, creased open with all my secrets laid bare for her to read at will. "Go on then?"

"There's this woman, Madame Safiya, she's an...investor of sorts." I lift my eyes heavenwards, seeking the soft morning's lights help, trying to organize my thoughts into a weave-able story that will convince her of what I need to.

"An investor of yours? She makes money off your fights?"

"Partly yes, she's very powerful, someone you don't cross."

"And you crossed her I assume?" Granger lifts an eyebrow, brushing the hair from her face that the breeze keeps whipping around her. Her tone is familiar, so all-knowing - I used to hate it, despised it to my very core even - but now, hearing it again, it's almost comforting. Somethings never change and I like the little reminds of the truth of that.

I chuckle darkly, remembering that ill-fated night that I first saw Potter's eyes again, when his magic touched me so powerfully that it nearly stole my very life. "In a way I suppose. I lost a fight and she lost a fortune because of it."

"Still falling in with the wrong people then?" She shakes her head and drinks her tea thoughtfully as I remain silent.

"Old habits." I don't deny it but also don’t bother to bring up the fact that Muay Thai and meeting Donnie - and subsequently Madame Safiya -  saved me from a very dark path.

 "What does this have to do with Harry?"

"I've asked him to leave, I don't want him mixed up with her. I'm...I'm worried..." I trail off, gazing at my feet, the gray and red trainers covered in dust and growing worn in the toes. I sigh heavily and press forward, determined to get it all out into the open. "He won't though and she's set her sights on him." I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my noise, Safiya's sly smile when first learning of what he means to me flitting in my mind, closely followed by Graces inquiries of him. "She's not to be messed with Granger and she's far too interested in Potter for my liking."

"Why would she be interested in him though Draco?" She asks softly and isn't that the question of the year? Why indeed.

"Because she knows...she knows that I..." I bite my lip and shrug, unable to voice it aloud to her, like the little words will carry on the wind and end everything. It would surely shatter our tentative illusion.

She nods, her lips pursed as she sets her mind against all I've said, reading between each word, each line, fixing it all up into neat little columns to be analyzed. "She'll use him to force your hand in some way." She states flatly, like it's a fact as plain as day.

I don't have to answer or even nod in response, she already knows she's right. "That's not all. She came over to my flat while I was gone the other day and took a vial of Potter's blood." I mutter, recounting the event turning my stomach sour and my throat dry. If I look close enough I can still see the marks on his wrists from his binds.

Granger stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening at the revelation. "His blood? Whatever for?"

"That's just it, I have no idea." I growl and drag a hand through my hair again, a tick I can't seem to stop today. "She's not a witch and I can't fathom what she could possibly do with it. It doesn't make any sense, it's completely mental, but there she was. In my bloody kitchen, tying up Harry, and forcing a needle into his arm!" I end in an almost shouted hiss that sounds unreal and unnerving even to my ears as I feel all the anxiety bubble back to the surface that Bellatrix has been occupying. "I can't have him here Granger, I can't have him hurt."

She watches me evenly through my growing rant and nods very slowly, purposefully. "You want us to take him back home with us don't you?"

I force myself to hold her gaze as I nod, feeling like my hearts leaking out beneath my feet as I do so. He'll be gone soon, just as I wanted all along...right? Even if I don't, even if I've shifted in my desire towards him it doesn't matter. Not with Safiya preying on him and especially now with Bella's warning lurking in my head and around every darkened corner.

"And that's really what you want? To never see him again?" She presses and I suck in a sharp breath as she mirrors my own inner war.

"It doesn't matter what I want." I reply, knowing my voice and face are cold and distant. Detached. A perfect Malfoy mask.

"I want to know something first."

"What is that?" I ask skeptically.

She draws from her bag a thick stack of postcards tied together with a small yellow ribbon. She stares down at them for a moment, contemplating them in her own time. "When you left, Harry..." She states after a long silent pause. "Harry stopped living. He was a shell of himself, no one could get through to him, he just wandered around like a ghost. Lost in his own little world." I feel her words hit like she's slicked me in tar and doused me in flames - my eyes are going dry and sticky and watery all at once.

Because...that can't be true, there had to have been something else that sent him over the edge. It couldn't have been me leaving. I open my mouth to rebut but she holds a hand up, clutching the stack to her chest. "I don't want to hear why, it was your decision and it's in the past now."

"Alright...then what do you want to know?" I somehow manage to get the words out through my dry throat as she thumbs the topmost postcard - a faded, curling picture of St. Petersburg.

"He spent a few months in a daze and then one night he just showed up at my door." She heaves a sigh and slips her eyes closed, propelling herself back in time. "He had this spark in his eye that I thought he'd lost forever, with this horribly tattered bag over his shoulder. He didn't say anything really but I somehow knew what he was planning, so I let him kiss my cheek, let him pretend he'd be back soon...when I asked where he was going he just shrugged and smiled then he twirled and was gone. We didn't hear from him for a whole year."

"Granger..." I try to stop her from continuing, her story filling ever little pore in my body with a prickling sensation that runs both hot and cold. I don't want to hear this.

"When he finally wrote," she continues, ignoring me completely. "It was a postcard from Russia, written very quickly, just a note to let us know he was alright and that he wasn't planning on coming home. Ron didn't want to believe it but I knew it all along and I knew why." Granger stops again, pinning me with her weighted eyes – eyes that are filled with years of meaning and untold stories that I want to push as far away from me as possible.

"We started our yearly visits shortly after that but he was always preoccupied, always eager to be moving on. Then last night he was...you two seemed...connected. Like you used to be but different somehow." She sounds more like she's taking to herself than to me now as her mind whirls with different kinds of scenarios. "Harry's my friend, my brother Draco. All this time and distance hasn't changed that, no matter how much space he puts between us."

"I know." I say quietly at her pause.

"Good, don't forget it." She fixes me with a withering stare that eats up all my bravado in coming here, all my confidence, and leaving me shifting nervously. "So where does that leave you?"

I furrow my brow, not quite following her line of questioning. "How do you mean?"

"I mean what do want from him? Because so help me Malfoy if you leave him broken again I will kill you." Granger threatens with perfect calm, the icy even tone somehow more chilling and frightening than any shouted threat she could have made. And this is my opening, the perfect way to launch into my plea to take him far away from here before it's too late, I couldn't have asked for better and yet...

As I stare into her deep brown eyes that have seen so much, that knows so intimately my relationship with Potter and all it's terrible lows and earth shaking highs, I can't seem to form the words, can't resume the augment I came here to make - not with her story ringing in my head. Instead my mouth is opening on its own, my answer a breath from my heart that floats thickly through me. "He's not mine to break anymore."

"If only that were true." She says sadly and I have to turn my head sharply from her, lest I completely degrade myself and dissolve into tears.

I can picture him so clearly, with his shoddy backpack and his hair growing unmanageably long with no one around to remind him to care for himself. I can picture him entering new towns with his goofy smile and approachable projection of kindness, picture him alone in hotel room after hotel room all over the world - repeating the process until the smile starts to fade, till the joy begins to rot, till the hotel rooms grow dingy and dirty, till his feet grow weary with all the dust beneath him and nothing to show for it.

It's not the life he was meant to lead and neither is curling up on a little cot in my little flat in an abandoned corner of the world.

I don't know what to say, don't know how to convey the extent of my feelings for him and how much I need him safe and away from me for his own good. So I keep my mouth shut, staring right back at her and almost wishing she would simply take the liberty to probe my mind, prying from me the answers I can't freely give.

We stand silently facing each other for a long time before she sighs and looks away. "I won't be able to convince him, not if you stay behind."

I let out a frustrated growl, screwing my eyes shut. "Why is that?"

"Have you not listened to a word I said?" She huffs.

"Of course I have but surely you can change his mind, there must be some way!" I bark, starting to feel panicky that they won't be able to help me.

"Draco he won't leave you." She glances at the stack of postcards once more before flinging them at me, hitting me in the chest with the frayed edges scratching across my fingers. "Not when he's spent all these years looking for you."

"I - what?" I choke out, all the air in the immediate vicinity sucked out into the void in one frozen second, leaving my lungs to ignite and burn as my brain threatens to collapse under the torrent pushing through it. "Why?" I plead, my voice hoarse and horribly scratchy, my fingers pulling at the collar of my shirt in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building in every single one of my nerve endings.

"I don't think it's me you need to be asking." Granger sends me one last meaningful glance before turning and strolling away, her light footed steps taking her further and further away with ease like she didn't just drop an anvil on my heart.  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
"Why were you in Brazil?"

Potter's head snaps up as I barge into the room, the door swinging shut behind me with an ominous thud that vibrates and entwines itself with my question. He's kneeling in the middle of the floor, his journal laying open on his left, a large map with little smudged black markings defiling it in every little square inch, denting into the carpet with the press of his fingers.

 

"What?" He sits back on his heels, staring up at me with eyes wide in puzzlement.

"Brazil." I repeat, my heart thumping as thought after thought chase themselves through his green eyes. "Why...when were you there?"

He swallows thickly, his gaze snapping to his open notebook. "Did you read my journal?" Potter's tone is lit with a tinge of panic but it's barely noticeable when compared with the dark shadows swirling through his gaze as he slowly and stiffly stands to his feet.

"No, I didn't read it." I bite out, Granger's proclamation that he's spent the last several years traipsing after me for god knows why, pinging like little spiked balls through my heart, each carrying their own theory and all too heavy to fully wrap my head around.

He glances at his notebook again before blinking up at me once more, stalking towards me with a predatory gleam. "But you looked through it?" It's an accusation that doesn't really need a confession but he waits silently for one anyway.

I tighten my fist, watching his progression towards me with a hard won detachment. "A little." I concede and plant my feet slightly apart to keep myself from backing up and running away.

"A little." His jaw clenches as he mimics me and rubs at his forehead. "What the hell Draco?!"

"I could say the same thing." I shoot back at him because who does that? Who wastes their life chasing after someone who doesn't want to be found? "What were you doing in Brazil?" I demand again, shocking myself when it comes out in a near yell.

What am I doing? Why am I pressing this, pressing him? Do I really want to know the answer? I can't imagine either possibility agreeing with me but I can't seem to back down, all the repressed emotions that had lain unused and forgotten for so long surging forward and demanding its fill. It's completely pointless, won't change anything, but I need to know if what she said was true.

 

Her single sentence was like a killing blow to any walls I had managed to still keep erect between us and I can't rid myself of her voice repeating it over and over again - even after she was long gone. I couldn't wash it away in the showers at the gym, it wouldn't be shaken free as I trudged back home. It had spiked and swelled as I had paused before my door somehow knowing that he'd be behind it. I feel like she's awoken a beast that won't be chained and abated without the truth from his lips.

He glares at me, his arms crossed, defiance written so clearly across every line of his body.

"No explanation huh?" I take a step towards him and he tenses. "Fine, how about Nepal then? Or maybe Italy?" I take another step but he doesn't back away, just continues glowering silently at me. "Not going to answer? I wonder, if I flip back five years will I find some entries about Iceland?" The tip of my shoe presses into his open journal and I have a fleeting urge to reach down and scoop it up, to tear through it for its own answers in the way I had refused to do last time.

"That's none of your business." He finally hisses out but there's a trembling starting in his hand that's clenched firmly around his forearm.

And instead of it cooling me down and allowing me to return to a natural logical course of action I find it only adding cinder to the fire. "You've been prying into my life since the moment you showed up Potter but you haven't said shit about yourself!" I feel a dam break within me as I take three swift strides until he backs into the desk behind him.

He's completely turned my life upside down, more has changed in my day to day life, hell more has changed inside of me, in the short amount of time he's been here. He's continually forced me to face things I never wanted to, he's pushed his way through my walls and masks and god I'm going to implode if he continues on in this manner.

I barely recognize myself. It wasn't long ago I hadn't lost a fight, wasn't in deep with the Madame, had a routine, was marginally happy, perfectly content in my lack of really living. I didn't have to worry about these bursts of unwanted emotions, had barely even thought of Draco Malfoy. And now, now I find out he's been searching for me, turning this globe over on his own two feet seeking me out and damn him!

I don't know how to handle this.

I grasp his arm, prying his shaking hand from where it's latched onto. "Were you ever going to tell me about this?" I wrap my fingers tightly around his wrist, leeching the trembling into my own limb. "Or were you just going to sleep on my damn floor forever and never tell me the fucking truth!"

"What do you want from me?" He grinds his teeth and glares through slits. "You want me to flaunt my problems? So I have some damn anxiety issues who the fuck cares!"

"I care!" The words are out before I can stop them, his eyes snapping wide. "And that's just rich coming from you."

"Sod off Draco, I have my thing under control, you were bloody drowning under yours!" He wrenches his hand free, yanking his cigarettes out of his pocket violently. I growl and swipe the pack from him, crumbling it in my hands in a fit of anger before tossing it aside. "What the hell!? What has gotten into you?" He shouts, vying for furious but coming out more panic stricken than anything as he watches them fly through the air and away from him.

And that is a very good question, one I can't fully face the answer to right now as I fist a hand in his shirt as he tries to launch himself away from me and towards his vice. He stretches against my hold before being dragged harshly back, nearly throwing him onto the desk in the process, as he gasps - trying to drag in breaths that are coming far too sporadically .

"You have Potter, you've gotten into me and I can't bloody take it!" I lean towards him, hissing in his face and feeling the waves of his magic trying to pull at me, trying to shake me and sicken me. "You've been nearly everywhere I have, all over this god forsaken planet, and you're going to tell me why. Right now." I demand of him, ignoring the web of pain peeling through the ferocity overtaking me at the touch of his power and the sound of his wheezing lungs.

"I was...I was just..." he braces his hands against the wooden top, tilting his head back to stare open mouthed at the ceiling as he heaves. His emerald eyes are swimming, in tears from pain or fear or some unknown emotion I don't know but I find myself wanting to press the heels of my palms to his eyes – to brush the moister away, to suck away the water that's making his green irises standout too vividly.

"You were what? Tell me!" I scream at him instead.

"I was looking for you, you prick!" He finally spits out, his jaw thrust forward like revealing the truth was physically painful.

"That's bullshit." I close my eyes against the onslaught of conflicting denial and hope. "Why?! God damn it why would you do that?" I feel the floor sway beneath me as he confirms Granger's suspicions and I claw at any footing I can get because I don't want to fall right now, I can't give into the panic and the fear and the desire that's all vying for a piece of me.

Something in Potter's eyes snap, clouding over quickly like a rising storm and I can't help but wonder if he feels it too - if perhaps it's not just me but it's the room, the world tilting on its creaky hinges intent to throw us off this twisted existence - as he curls his shaking fingers into my shirt, holding me in the same violent embrace I am. "Because you just left, you didn't even say goodbye!" He pauses, breathing through the hitch that's demanding him to inhale his smoke. "You just vanished in the middle of the bloody night without a word. I spent three fucking months tracking you down and then you...you just!" His jaw quakes as he jostles the hand in my shirt back and forth, his back leaning away until he's perched precariously on the edge of the desk.

"Oh like you even noticed! How long did it take for it to sink in that I was even gone?" I fume, all the time I spent lying in that damn hospital bed flooding back to me.

"What?!" He snarls, his fingernails scrapping across my skin as he opens and shuts his fist.

"I was in the hospital for months and you didn't come see me once Potter." I feel my heart plummet to my feet all over again as I relieve those days, each day and night coming and going with no change - just pain and confusion and nightmares and solitude. "Not a damn word, not even a letter!" The only light I had for the three months I was held captive was Potter's face, the memory of his smile and the touch of his kiss, only to resurface - miraculously alive - and he didn't come near me with a ten foot pole.

"I couldn't!" He fist loosens and drops flat against my chest, his voice laced with pain and his gaze distraught.

"Like hell you couldn't, you're Harry bloody Potter, you just didn't!" My lip curls up into a foul snarl as I feel the bitterness I hadn't realized I was still holding onto poison my voice. "Couldn't take it Potter? Didn't want to soil yourself with looking at me again?"

"I tried, they wouldn't let me!" He presses a hand into his face, his fingers scrapping across his cheekbone. "I-I tried..."

"You must think I'm daft." I seethe, his denial hitting me harder than I expected. Why can't he just say it? Why can't he admit to abandoning me? Not that I didn't, don't, deserve it but still...it's like having someone take a grater to my already shredded heart and scrapping it into a bloody unrepairable pulp.

"It's true! They were...I couldn't...I was..." He stammers, his hands reaching for me and retreating in the next breath as his eyes dart around.

"You were what?"

"I was in the Psych Ward." He cringes into himself, tipping away till he nearly falls completely backwards before his hands catch far behind him.

I pull my hand back, clutching at the back of my neck as I stare down at him, his gaze troubled and blinking with a twitchy fear. "What? Why?" I croak, my throat suddenly painful to speak through.

"Because..." He doesn't finish, just sinks his teeth sharply into his bottom lip and looks down. 

"From the battle?" I hear unwarranted tenderness reach alongside the explosive of anger and confusion and watch with a strange sort of detachment as I take the last step towards him - my legs forcing his knees apart like there's a yarn twining between us, reeling me in. "Because of Voldemort?"

He breathes shallowly as he shakes his head. "No Draco...I found you." I furrow my brow as he looks back up at me, trying to catch onto his line of thought and failing. "Not with the Aurors, it was just me." Realization hits like a bell tolling over my spent life and I move to back away, only to find myself stuck in place as he reaches out and grabs my forearms in a death grip. "I tracked you down to this little house in the mountains and when I found you...strung up on that disgusting wall, you were barely alive. Your eyes were like glass, I don't think you even knew I was there as I released your chains. You just...babbled nonsense and..." He blinks a tear down his cheek as I feel myself pale with no blood left in my face, like it's pumping completely outside my body. "You wouldn't stop scratching and digging your fingernails into your flayed skin until you passed out."

Shame so deep it rattles my bones rakes through me at knowing he saw me in such a condition, knowing Amycus liked to keep me naked with my wounds exposed to the dank air with puddles of blood forming beneath me. Potter wasn't supposed to have seen me, he wasn't supposed to have witnessed that and I know I should have put it together sooner that he had but for some reason I had managed to block it out and ignore it.

"I took you to St. Mungos." He continues, the tears in his eyes falling unheeded and unobstructed, a ghost flitting through him like he's seeing me there again, with the lines of the whip in my flesh, and the screws in my fingers... "And when I went back, Carrow was there, standing dumbfounded and just staring at the thing I freed you from. He had this twisted smile when he saw me and started ranting on and on about all that he..." He chokes and gags on his own tongue and I feel equally compelled to wrap my arms around him and shove him out the damn window to get the phantoms he's conjuring to leave with him.

"So you killed him." I fill in for him, already knowing the end of the story and not wanting to hear it again.

"No...I...snapped." He releases me quickly like my skin has burnt him, his hands curling into fists and pressing into his stomach. "I could see everything, like I had been there the whole time...I didn't just kill him Draco, I destroyed him for what he did and then slit his throat with a piece of broken glass and let him bleed to death like the vermin he was." He hisses like a snake curling inside him, his eyes flashing with a manic gleam that sets the tears alight with a fierce spark.

I recoil from him, stepping back once, twice, three times with my feet nearly shaking in my shoes. It's not from disgust at what he did, not really, because Amycus deserved it - fitting revenge even. But he's Harry Potter, everyone's hero, and he murdered my Death Eater tormentor with cruelty and apparently lost hold of his mind because of it. All because of me. All because of the demon inside that wants to be released, that called to my captors.

He danced too close to evil and allowed it to leech into himself. He danced to close to me.

I press a hand to my heart, almost expecting to feel it stilled, no longer beating my life but shattered into a million little pieces. But the pulse is there, fast and erratic, a mocking drum that speaks to the things I try to deny and run from.

"I went back to you." He watches me, unmoving from his spot perched on the desk, his knees still splayed wide from where I was lodged moments ago - his voice wavering. "But I was...and you were...there was a fight and they wouldn't let me and then they locked me up." He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "A bloody danger to myself and others, was their reasoning I think."

"How long?" I whisper, feeling the stretch of time and unspoken truths that were laden with hurtful lies pull between us, a tug-a-war over a vast and endless canyon.

“Time was...” He shrugs tiredly. "You were gone when I got out." He answers and I feel the thread snip and snap, sending me careening.

I swallow the sharp edge in my throat and clench my fingers until the nails dig into my palm. "No."

"What?"

"No." I repeat, uselessly and stubbornly defiant, a part of me unwilling to believe it - desperate to cling to what I had thought had happened for all these long years.

"What do you mean no?" Potter snaps.

"I mean you can't do this Potter." I narrow my eyes, my nostrils flaring with a touch of my long neglected magic sparking around me. "You can't have spent all these years chasing me. And you can't just come here and tell me all this fucking shit and expect me to...what?! What am I supposed to do now?!" I shout at him with the anger simmering anew in my veins.

I know anger, anger is better than the other thing trying to open me up.

He glares back at me, dropping to his feet and shoving his glasses back up his nose like they are the reason we're fighting. "It's the truth Draco, you asked for it."

"I don't bloody care! You can't just turn everything upside down like this. I was perfectly fine and then you just had to show up and now...fuck it!" I tug a hand through my hair, the severed string tying up my heart squeezing and pulling and raveling tighter and tighter till I fear it will dissolve in a burst of flame if not dealt with.

"I'm sorry I needed to see you again, I'm sorry I spent all this damn time searching for you but I needed to Draco. Okay, I just fucking needed to!" Potter bites out.

"Why couldn't you leave it alone?!" I press my thumbs into my eyes till the white chases away the taunting confusion. I don't know what to do with all of this, don't know how to process it. I don't know how to ignore the fact that he was looking for me, that he saved me, that he bloodily killed Amycus, that he didn't see me in the hospital because he was having a psychotic breakdown and not because he didn't want to like I thought.

Because above all I have to remember he's not for me, I can't have him, and my entire being is starting to scream to just the opposite of that - which is truly terrifying.

He growls deeply in his throat and if I were to look up, I'm sure I would see him fisting his curls and screwing his face up with visible frustration. "Because it's you and I can't." He states so plainly, so simply, and yet with complete defeat - casting himself off the edge with his confession that thrills through me, lighting the flame I've been desperately keeping doused with icy necessity.

It yanks me from my spot, forcing my eyes open, his own gaze widening uneasily as I stalk towards him suddenly. "Damn it Potter." I hiss and grab him, pressing him to me and sinking him back into the wood at the same moment - silencing his squawk on my lips as I crash my mouth to his furiously.


	15. Leave Me Breathless

_ Italics = Flashback to seventh year _                                                           
  
  
  
  
  
_The dragon is magnificent._  


 

_ It's soaring far in the distance now, its giant wings of thick leathery skin gliding on the wind, disappearing and emerging through the clouds. My legs still feel shaky back on solid ground, like their desperate to lift off once more, to cling to the stout back and feel the rush of the air against my face. _   


 

_ Oh how I've missed flying. _   


 

_ There's the shuffle of movement behind me, low words drifting through the space between us but I pay it no heed, the beast too wondrous to pry my eyes from. _   


 

_ "He'll be okay." Potter...or Harry rather...steps up beside me, following my line of vision with his own. _   
  
  


_ I nod without turning to him, the last glimpse of the dragon winking out of sight behind a mountain. "He's beautiful." I breathe quietly, reverently. _ _I've always had a thing for dragons, probably something to do with my name, but never before have I been so close, never before had I ridden one._  


 

_ "Yeah he is." He agrees and with a sigh I let my gaze shift sideways to him, taking in his rumpled attire, his singed and soot slicked skin, and above all the nasty little golden cup reeking of pure evil dangling lightly from his fingers. _

 

_ And I still can't believe we did it. I can' believe we managed to pull off that insane rouse and break into Gringotts, supposedly the most secure place in all the world. Just imagine the headlines if people found out it was accomplished by a couple of teenagers and one cranky old goblin that not only broke in but broke out as well. _   
  


_ On the back of bloody dragon. _   


 

_ It's like some children's story, so outlandish that if I hadn't experienced it firsthand I wouldn't believe it to be true. _   


 

_ "We're going to do it tonight." Harry says and I nod again, still watching the cup swinging gently in his grasp. Another horcrux found and tonight we kill it, bringing us one step closer. "When Ron and Hermione get back." _   


 

_ Back? And where did they go exactly? _   


 

_ I quirk an eyebrow, glancing behind us to find that we are indeed alone, how and when that happened is beyond me - they were there a minute ago, Granger positively green from the ride on the Dragon's wondrous back. "And where are the lemmings then?" _   


 

_ He scolds with a roll of his eyes. "They’re not lemmings." _   


 

_ I wave a hand dismissively. "Beside the point. Where they ran off to, now that is the question." _   


 

_ He blushes and I feel a funny little stirring in my stomach. We haven't been alone for days, not since...well since we snogged until my mouth was rather sore and I felt like I was going to burst out of my skin from wanting him. Unfortunately it had ended rather abruptly, the weasel calling out to him to help with Granger, leaving me hungry for him and breathless and thoroughly confused atop the cliff. _   


 

_ Then we were thrown headlong into planning the heist and Granger got better and there just wasn't any time for...whatever the hell we started. On the bright side every time he's seen me since he flushes bright and smiles this giddy little smile that he tries to smother with his teeth. _   


 

_ But I see it anyway. _   


 

_ "They um...went back to Shell Cottage." He toes the ground and flips the cup round and round his finger. _   


 

_ "Because they missed the oceans stench?" _   


 

_ "Stench? I like the ocean." The cup twirls once more then he's flinging it to the ground, the seemingly unobtrusive heirloom clanking against the rocks. "I think it'd be nice you know, a little cottage in the middle of nowhere next to the sea..." _   


 

_ "Out of the question Potter." I interject, trying and failing to ignore the little twitch of displeasure in his jaw at the use of his surname. I just...it's hard! I've been calling him Potter for years. Habits do not change overnight...not even if you've fallen for the hapless boy. _

 

_ "Why not?" He demands, rubbing at a patch of sweaty soot on his neck. I swear he can't go anywhere without getting overly dirty, it's a truly bizarre phenomenon. _

 

_ "Because the salt does something unspeakably horrendous to your hair and like I said...it smells, I cannot tolerate it for long." My fingers find their way around a stray curl, testing its texture and weight, almost expecting it to feel thick and dirty. But it's not it's almost...good god I'm turning into a sap. _   


 

_ Damn Potter. I mean Harry. I mean, damn it! _   


 

_ He grins and I snap my hand back, dropping it like the stupid lead weight it is at my side. "My hair? I can't live there one day because it makes my hair a mess and because...you don't like it?" _   


 

_ "Yes well." I clear my throat, certain I'm not showing him an ounce of the mortification I feel at having let that slip. I'm not his father or even his boyfriend for that matter, it's not up to me at all where he decides to spend his time. Of course he should want to spend his time in the city...in a nice flat...with high ceilings and tasteful art...and gah! I do not like this. _   


 

_ I'm turning into a bleeding girl, I will seriously have to Avada myself if I start writing his and mine name all over a notebook. Or Weasley could do it for me. Might be cathartic for him. _   


 

_ "So...are you saying that if I move to the seaside that you won't...visit?" He fidgets next to me and I swear he just moved closer, the sneaky blighter. _   


 

_ "No...unless...you were in mortal peril or something..." _   


 

_ "Mortal peril?" He cocks his head and I feel the brush of his fingers along the long loose sleeve of my shirt. _   


 

_ "Yes you know. Near death...bleeding all over the floor...held at wand point...tripped and knocked your thick skull on the stairwell, that sort of thing." _   


 

_ He licks his lips and its stupid how the little slip of the pink appendage has all the blood in my head rushing south. "You'll come running if I trip?" He chuckles and dips his head, hiding his smile nearly out of sight. _   


 

_ "I didn't say running." I reply annoyed...well trying to sound annoyed anyway. "But someone has to make sure you don't accidentally kill yourself with your clumsiness." _   


 

_ "Oh how kind. You really should live close then, you know for convenience." He glances up at me through his fringe and I have to twine my traitorous fingers into the hem of my shirt to keep from raking them through his rebellious locks. _   


 

_ "Because you’re a disaster on two feet?" _   


 

_ "Exactly." _   


 

_ "Best be very close considering." _   


 

_ He nods, shifting nearer. "It's only logical." _   


 

_ "No ocean than." I try to remember to breathe and want very much to just grab him and snog him senseless. _   


 

_ "No ocean." He agrees and crinkles his nose, looking far too cute for his own damn good. _   


 

_ And I find that I suddenly don't care if it's a bad idea or where the hell we are or that I have no clue when the lemmings will be back - I do just what I've been wanting to since he slipped from beneath me on the seashore cliff. Pulling him into my arms I kiss him deeply, sighing into his mouth as he melts against me, his arms winding around me and clinging to me as I am to him. _   


 

_ He tastes like fire and mint and I find the shakiness in my legs dissipating, the ground solid beneath me once more. I could live without flying I think...as long as I have this, as long as I have him I think I could do without a lot actually. _   


 

_ Which is a rather terrifying discovering in all actuality. _   


 

_ But apparently we are doomed to never discuss what it is between us or get more than a moment in shared bliss because no sooner have I got him panting and moaning and wiggling in my arms that there's a pop, pop - our feet stumbling too quickly back from each other as Granger and Weasley appear a little way off. _   


 

_ Harry trips over his own feet and lands on his arse with his face flushed and shirt even more rumpled than before - looking thoroughly...well...snogged. I smirk discreetly as I catch my breath, tucking my hair behind my ear and out of my face - I may have to cut it short if we keep this up, what with his apparent penchant for latching onto it and musing it beyond repair. I can literally feel it sticking up all over the place, like a mockery. _   


 

_ He glances at me and bites his reddened lip, looking very much like he wants to push me to the ground and muse me further. _   


 

_ Perhaps I shan't cut it after all, not if he gets that much obvious pleasure in running his hands through it...and it doesn't exactly feel bad...it's kind of nice actually... _   


 

_ "Bill says he hasn't seen it Harry, you sure you left it there?" Weasley asks as he and Granger regain their footing and turn towards us. "Alright there?" He laughs at the image Harry's making, like the wind picked him up and threw him to the ground in a rumpled heap. _   


 

_ "Er yeah." He mutters, plucking himself from the ground and dusting off his backside with quick flicking movements. "Thanks for checking, everyone settled?" _   


 

_ Granger eyes him skeptically, glancing at me from the corner of her eye and lingering a beat too long on my mouth, making my hand twitch at my side in effort to keep from reaching up and wiping my lips with a corner of my sleeve. It's not that obvious is it? "Yes, the rest left this morning." _   


 

_ "Right." Harry mumbles, his gaze dancing away from Granger's chasing one. _   


 

_ "What did you lose?" I ask and Harry blushes. Again. _

 

_ I swear to Merlin he's going to permanently change his skin tone if he keeps flushing so much in front of me. Of course it's annoying how adorable I find it. _   


 

_ "Umm." He eloquently explains. "Just a book." _   


 

_ "A book?" I ask incredulously. I don't think I've seen him read once since I've joined them - unless you count reading over my shoulder, which I don't, that was just him being idiotic. _   


 

_ "Yup." He nods and marches straight past me towards the other two and I can't help the smile that follows his retreating back. Because it wasn't just me itching to get him alone again, oh no he was too, enough to engineer an excuse to make it happen. _   


 

_ Of course that realization has me nearly jumping in giddiness - which is not okay, I do not jump with joy like some neanderthal - and only serves to make me want him more. Which is just frustrating, considering I can't have him for who knows how long. Blasted lemmings. _   


 

_ "I think we need to go to Hogwarts." Granger announces after we all inevitably end up following Harry inside the magically expanded tent, arranging ourselves around the table. _   


 

_ "Hogwarts? You serious?" Weasley gapes and I can't stop the over dramatic eye roll at his tone. He is seriously incredibly dense sometimes. "What like you knew?" He snaps at me and Harry snickers at my side. _   


 

_ I sneer and delight myself with imagining the look that would overtake his freckled face if I were to throw his best friend atop the table and snog him till he passed out due to lack of oxygen - the thought quickly infusing a growing need in my body with a rather distracting physical manifestation that I don't need right now. So on second thought best stop imagining such things. _   


 

_ "Of course I knew." I scoff and smooth my hair for the umpteenth time - seriously it will not lie flat, what in the world did Harry do to it? No doubt his hands were all mucky and now my lovely locks are stuck this way. I think we'll need some rules...like proper hand washing before hair fondling. _   


 

_ "Alright smart arse, enlighten me then." The redhead looks much too triumphant as he challenges me, like he's already won the game. _   


 

_ Oh if only he knew how wrong he is. "It's the founders you pillock." His face morphs into the radish look he always gets when he's astronomically confused and I smirk. "You know the four founders, the Dark Lord was obsessed with Hogwarts." _   


 

_ "How'd you know that?" He grinds his teeth and clenches the table - it's a bit funny how much he hates being wrong. One would think he'd be used to it after all these years. _   


 

_ "Harry." I supply the answer simply, watching with amusement as Granger narrows her eyes in suspicion, Weasley gapes in abject horror, and Harry grins back me. _   


 

_ Oh yes I used his given name. Though you'd think I just stripped him naked and had my wicked way with him right there on the table from the look on his friends faces. _   


 

_ Weasley flounders for words and I shrug a causal shoulder, unsure if their more shocked about me calling him Harry or of the fact that their leader has confided in me. In great detail. For hours. Typically after stalking me into the woods. Usually while trying to touch me in some way. Honestly now that I think about it, that kiss in the Manor really shouldn't have been so surprising. _   


 

_ "It all makes sense. There was Marvolo's ring, a decedent of Salazar Slytherin, then Slytherin's locket, and Helga Hufflepuff's cup. That only leaves two more, Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw. Although I don't believe he would have used anything belonging to the house of Gryffindor to craft a horcrux." I continue, glowing under the prideful gaze of the boy next to me for some unknown reason. _   


 

_ Honestly I shouldn't be so utterly pleased that he's smiling like that. But I am and maybe it's because his smile is like the damn sun, it radiates his warmth and goodness from his very pores. _   


 

_ "Why do you think that?" Granger asks, pulling a book seemingly out of nowhere and thunking it down on the table, her fingers flipping it open with expert ease, ghosting over the thick ancient parchment. _   


 

_ "Because of the rivalry, right?" Harry pipes in, his gaze glued to my face and ignoring his best mates bewildered stares. _   


 

_ I nod, smiling from the corner of my mouth. "Exactly. He would have thought it a disgrace, tainting his soul to use something from his supposed ancestor’s rival’s house...I should think." _   


 

_ "Alright but that doesn't explain why we need to go to Hogwarts, I mean the place is crawling with Death Eaters!" Weasley concedes with squeaky panic. Alright maybe not squeaky...but it wasn't manly by any means. _   


 

_ I debate reaching forward and flicking him in the middle of his forehead and really it's a miracle I manage to restrain myself at all as I wonder how long it's going to take for him to catch onto the fact that we need to get inside the walls to get our bearings. To figure out where to go from here and hopefully receive some insight. _   


 

_ The debate that follows is long and winded and filled with back and forth arguments before finally settling on what we knew was going to happen all along. _   


 

_ We're going to Hogwarts to try and track down the next bit of soul. And after that we're only one step away from the Dark Lord and his inevitable defeat.  _   


 

 

****  
  
  
  
The distance between us had seemed so far, too far, a great stretch of treacherous terrain too unyielding for even the strongest of wills and hearts. It was littered with years of solitude and horrific pain and unspeakable experiences. I never thought I'd make it through, never thought I should, and there's a part of me that knows I shouldn't be here, that I need to backtrack back through the forest and into my seclusion once more.   
  
 

But then I fear I may never move again.  
  
 

Potter's gasp gets muffled in seconds, his open mouth sealed shut with my lips, my tongue wasting no time in plunging in and tasting him - my body jerking into his as it coats my senses and sends me reeling. And all I can think is that I'm home, finally and utterly home as he twines his tongue around mine, his hands feathering through my hair and tugging me tightly to him, the solid structure of the desk wobbling on its legs as he's pushed back onto it.  
  
 

His moans soar through my spirit as I devour his lips in a heady kiss that holds the taste of his tears and my fears and the years of our separation - the knowledge that he's finally in my arms again, real and warm and pulling desperately at my shoulders, washing through me and making me whimper and heart stammer.  
  
 

I ignore my protesting lungs as I try to meld myself with him, desperate to never be parted again, his smell mingling with sweet coconuts making me delirious as I map out the grooves of his mouth, new and yet oh so familiar. His lips are still so incredibly soft, his back taut with muscles, his hair silky and coarse at the same time as I twist my fingers through them. When the burning in my chest demands it's fill, I break away with a deep groan that sends a shudder through his body, my lips latching onto his neck, my finger's yanking on his hair to tip his head back beneath my ministrations.  
  
 

"Draco." He groans as I suck at his pulse point, the taste of his skin both salty and sweet, swirling with the spices he must have been cooking with earlier. "Oh god I've missed you." His throat works and I can feel his sounds of pleasure as I work across his neck - and all I can think is now that we've taken this step, that he's too far away, that the stupid desk keeps bumping into my thighs, and his shirt keeps getting in the way of my hands finding his bare skin that I'm suddenly desperate to feel for myself.  
  
 

I trail one hand down his chest and stomach, delighting in the jump of his muscles beneath my touch, the hitching of his breath, and the garbled noises spilling from his lips. "Miss you too." I whisper against his throat, the pure truth of those words weighing heavy while sliding my tongue down over the curve of his neck and nipping at his collar bone - my heart thumping maddeningly, spurring me on with a frantic need, a part of me positive that if I stop for even a moment that he'll vanish and I'll wake from this dream.   
  
 

"Never leave again." He whimpers, lifting his leg to curl around my hip as I dig my fingers into his warm thigh, bringing more of him into me as my nails scrape against the denim of his jeans.   
  
 

I shake my head, capturing his lips again in another urgent kiss that sends me spinning and sparks little explosions of light behind my eyes. "Never again." I agree without moving away from his mouth, knowing there's no way I'll be able to even if I wanted to. He's captured me, completely and wholly. He owns all of me, every little inch of my heart and body belongs to him.  
  
 

They always have.  
  
 

Even all these years later, even after trying to push him down and away, he's always managed to crop back up, always managed to make my heart thunder and pulse quicken - making all of me turn against my knowledge of what needs to be. His hands ghost down my back, bunching in my shirt and pulling headily at me.  
  
 

I used to imagine seeing him. At the beginning. Used to see a flash of his green eyes in a crowd, used to feel my heart thunder at a glimpse of storm tossed raven hair. I used to wake from dreams so real that I could still feel his lips and embrace, could still smell his scent.  
  
 

It was hell.  
  
 

Then drink and time and always staying on the move, slowly drowned him to a slow simmer in the back of my head, Muay Thai being the only thing that finally settled him into a quiet corner of my being that I could tolerate.   
  
 

"Say my name." He gasps out between our hard kisses and drags of breath as he wraps his other leg around me, using them to try and pull me closer as I try my best to comply even though I couldn't possibly be any nearer.  
  
 

My movements still, a protest slipping from his throat before I cup his cheek, looking at him for the first time since leaping at him. His eyes are heavy lidded, gazing at me with such an overwhelming need that I feel my chest constrict painfully, his cheeks fully flushed and mouth swollen, looking perfectly beautiful. So vastly different from the last time I had him like this, with his back pressed to a tree, his cheeks snow kissed, a laughing smile on his lips that were bitten deep red. His hair long about his face with my fingers tangled in the mess of curls - he had been musing about nothing, just snarky comments falling from his tongue between embraces.  
  
 

He loved to do that, teasing me about my growing Gryffindor attitude as he pressed his slim body into my bony one, debating the state of my clothes or my hair as he disheveled me with his attentions. He would laugh and joke amidst the heated kisses with a lovely flush rising all over him and then all I would have to do to turn him into a puddle of unintelligible goo was run my fingers down his neck, catch his eye with a wicked smile, and touch his lips with barely there kisses. It always worked, seconds later and he was collapsing against me and yanking on my body and demanding more and more and more.  
  
 

The teasing left behind and forgotten.  
  
 

I never told him I like it though. That I enjoyed his little version of foreplay because I could so plainly see the nervousness his words were trying to hide as well as I could see the desire he was trying to keep at bay with each laugh. It only made me desire him more. It made me feel...loved.  
  
 

Now he's older and there's no humor in his expression. He isn't hiding anything, holding nothing back, unafraid of his want for me and laying it bare for all to see. His lashes lay low over his vivid gaze, thick and sooty, beckoning and yearning. His fingers are sure and demanding, the muscles in his thighs taut and hard around my waist. We are no longer teenagers in the woods, grasping each other out of sight of his friends, sneaking behind the tent for a quick snog.  
  
 

We are grown and I have ran and he has searched and now...there's no mistaking what it is he wants from me.  
  
 

"Harry." His name pierces me on my own tongue and as he attacks my mouth again, his fingers digging into my back, I can't figure out why he wants me, why he's wasted himself on looking for me.  
  
 

I don't deserve him, I know this. I am damaged and ruined goods. And yet here he is, kissing me like I am his life and his breath, his body on fire around me, coaxing my own blazing heat from within me - meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, moan for moan, like two sides of the same coin.  
  
 

"I'm so sorry Draco." He whispers, his hands delving beneath my shirt, licking and sucking a path down the side of my neck that's making my insides twist pleasantly and there's a wetness that's following him that isn't from his mouth as I realize through a muddled mind that he's crying again.  
  
 

I can't have that, I can't face his tears lest they bring on my own and drown us both. "Don't Harry." I mutter, grasping his hips roughly and grinding myself into him, his own hardness providing a near debilitating friction that has us both groaning loudly.  
  
 

"Oh fuck." He presses his face into the crook of my shoulder, rocking his hips into mine, his hands finding purchase on my bare skin between my shoulder blades, my shirt bunched up under my armpits. His movements force a disconnect in my thoughts, snipping away anything outside of here and now, outside of his twitching hips and rubbing prick that feels incredibly hot even through my trousers and his thick jeans. My mouth moves around words I'm uncertain of as I press kisses against his temple, over the dip of his cheekbone, my fingers tracings the hooks of his glasses behind his ears.  
  
 

He moans uncontrollably, lifting his face and sighing deeply as I pull his bottom lip into my mouth, sucking and biting at it before releasing it and kissing him fully. "God yes, want you..." He insists against my lips, hooking his ankles and leaning back, dragging me over his body and rocking harder into me.  
  
 

For some reason those two little words send me plummeting, shivering along my spine and at the same time making me want to cry out from the pain they induce in the deepest corner of my being. "You shouldn't want me Harry." I squeeze my eyes shut, dropping my forehead to his and feeling myself grow cold while fighting the urge to kiss him again and digging my fingers into his hips to keep him still.  
  
 

It seems like such a pointless argument now, with our ragged breathing filling the air, our bodies wrapped around each other like extensions of ourselves. Pointless but true. He shouldn't want me but god help me I can't move from him.  
  
 

"I should and I do." He growls, the deepness of his voice creating an opposing surge and I find myself lost in him once more as I take the out he's offering - purposely ignoring all the negative voices in my head as he sucks on my tongue and grinds his hard length into mine, my arms wrapping around him and pressing back into him with equal vigor.  
  

 

All thought and ability to speak tumbles away from us as we tug and pull and move together, our bodies aligning perfectly, like we'd never been separated. His fingers run the width of my trousers, slipping just below the band, and caressing my skin in such a way that causes shivers to run up and down my frame. I try to keep some semblance of my wits about me as I feel him fumble with my button but then he's dragging the zipper down with a quick jerk, everything around me pounding so madly that I can't hear anything.  
  
 

There's a certain part of my mind tapping at me to put a stop to the fast progression but it's quickly getting drowned out and shoved away as his hand sneaks down and palms my hard cock through the fabric of my boxers.  
  
 

"Oh god Harrrry." I groan, my jaw going slack as he plants scorching wet kisses along my jaw and over my cheeks, his fingers squeezing with a soft little hum in the back of his throat.  
  
 

"I want you to take me." He whispers in my ear, his lips caressing the shell and nuzzling the curve of my neck, his hand dipping beneath my pants to grasp my erection - skin on skin, my entire body melting into his touch.  
  
 

"We should..." I brace my hands against the desk as he pumps his hand up and down, his calloused fingers so amazingly good over my straining flesh that I'm a little worried he's going to be bring me over the edge any second now. It's been so long...so bloody long since anyone's touched me down there. "Should wait." I moan, biting my lip harshly and turning my head just a fraction to miss the kiss he tries to pull me into - otherwise I fear I may lose all sense and crumble completely beneath him.  
  
 

I feel him shake his head, squeezing my prick with a demanding force that has me gasping and shaking, his legs tightening around my hips and trapping his own hand between us. "I've been waiting." He interjects and I can't seem to swallow or breathe or think straight as he latches back onto my neck. "Want you inside me Draco." He hisses and I shudder, his request charging straight to my heart and killing the last of my resistance.  
  
 

And despite the fact that I know this can't possibly end well, I capture his mouth and lift him up, his arms winding around my neck as I stumble us the few steps to the bed. We crash onto the mattress, the springs bouncing beneath our weight, my arms caught at an awkward angle beneath him. But he doesn't seem to notice as he thrusts up into me, his hands pulling at my shirt and trying to pry it over my head despite our disadvantageous position.   
  
 

Wresting my arms free, I sit up with Harry's arse resting tantalizingly in my lap and pull my shirt off, tossing it on the floor and uncaring where it lands. He visually traces the lines of my chest, taking in each and every scar over my pale expanse, his breath shuddering as he reaches up to touch the newly exposed flesh - the pads of his fingers running along the lines of flamed-licked skin that's puckered and patchy.  
  
 

I'm oddly okay with my body despite the damage that's been done to it - it's like a painting of my life, each mark, every indentation a story in itself that I wished never happened but it did and I have the reminder of it written into my very flesh. It keeps me grounded, keeps me from flying away to where I no longer belong.  
  
 

"You are so beautiful." He whispers hoarsely, his fingers cold against my heated body, touching me...perfectly...that's the only way to explain it. The simple caress has me closing my eyes against the flood of emotions that grips me, making me want to bury my face in his neck and spill all of myself out to him. To lay myself bare as he is, to let him see all the festering wounds, to see all the way to the deepest parts that I never even dare look at. "Come here." He reaches for me and I quickly blink away the cracks in my very soul that were beginning to shine through.  
  
 

I hate and love that he knows me so well, that he can see the minute shift in my posture. But I don't want to fall into another discussion of the past, of my time in captivity. I want him and for once I'm not going to run.  
  
 

I smirk at him and yank the shirt from his body, watching with a burning hunger as I begin exposing him beneath me, his trousers quickly following the way of his shirt before he even has a change to yelp in surprise - his shoes tangling briefly with the offending material before I manage to tug them all off in one fell swoop.   
  
 

He blushes deeply and grasps at the bedding as I stare down at his nude body, his legs spread wide and bent at the knees. "Harry..." I trail off, unable to formulate the words I need to express the amount of stunning beauty that he inhabits so effortlessly. He's all tan skin and lean muscle, his scars barely noticeable in the golden nature of his coloring that he's acquired no doubt from years on the road. There's a patch of dark hair leading down to his jutting cock that's long and thick and already weeping - begging to be touched and kissed.  
  
 

I run my hands over his knees and down his thighs as he draws in a hissing breath, dropping his legs out to the sides as I near the junction between them.  
  
 

"You're making me nervous." Harry breathes and I smile, my hands stopping just short of his member.  
  
 

"Am I?" I raise an eyebrow, oddly enough delighting in the small confession that's accompanied with the jumping of his cock and twitching of his abdominal muscles.  
  
 

He nods, reaching down and twinging his fingers with mine on his splayed thighs. "I always thought that you'd..."  
  
 

"I'd what?" I ask, watching as he bites his lip and turns an even deeper red.  
  
 

Using our grasped hands as leverage, he hauls himself up, pressing a hard and deep kiss to my lips. "That you'd be rougher."  
  
 

"Is that what you want?" I ask when he breaks away, inching his way closer until he's wrapped around me once more, our naked chests rubbing together in blissfully real contact.  
  
 

"This is good." He all but purrs, rutting against me with his hands mapping out the curves and dips of my back, his mouth running along the rise of my shoulder. "I used to think about finding you though and I had this little fantasy of what you'd do when I did."  
  
 

Reaching down to grasp his firm arse, I haul him closer, the knowledge that he's completely naked against me making the fiction between my still clothed lower half all the better. "I take it that it wasn't me bleeding all over the place and trying to goad you into leaving?" I mutter against his throat, scrapping my teeth along the tender flesh and pulling his earlobe into my mouth.  
  
 

"Oh shit that's good." He groans, his legs around me as I find him in my lap once more. His head falls back as his mouth drops open, unable to hold onto our conversation for a moment as I suck on his ear and listen to the stream of sounds leaving his throat - and I'm quickly realizing as I mark him as mine that I've never loved any sound more than the ones he's making now.  
  
 

"Was it?" I probe, a little unsure as to why I'm trying to get him to pick the string back up instead of just ravishing him.  
  
 

"Nooo." His voice is a near whine as I push him back down, pinning his body to the bed and turning my attention to his chest. "It's stupid." He insists as I kiss a path down his collar and over a nipple, my stomach flipping as he arches into my mouth while I latch onto it, sucking it between my teeth and lavishing it with a hard lick.  
  
 

"I want to hear." I move to the other side, pulling the hardened bud into my mouth for the same treatment as his hands find a rough purchase in my flaxen locks.  
  
 

"You're wearing too much clothes." He pouts, the heels of his feet pushing at the waist of my trousers as he withers beneath me, my nails raking down his sides hard enough to leave long red scratches in their wake.  
  
 

"I'll take them off after you tell me." I inform him, his long hisses spurring me on and bringing my teeth out between licks down his stomach with little bites.  
  
 

"Yess." Harry thrashes his head to the side as I slip down between his legs, my hands holding his thighs flat out to the side, my tongue leaving a thick wet strip up the length of his prick - he tastes so incredibly good and I have to fight for control as I wait for him to answer. "I used to imagine...mhmmm god Draco!" He sucks in a breath, screwing his glowing eyes shut as I swirl my tongue around the head, the salty pre-cum resting delightfully on my palate, before pinching his inner thigh once. He yelps and glares down at me, the effect greatly diminished by his panting as he tugs on my hair.  
  
 

"What would I do to you?" I lock my eyes on his, the look in them so similar to how he used to stare at me from across the camp fire when he was itching for Weasley to go to bed so he could pounce me, it draws me in as I trail my fingers over his throbbing cock - the skin so silky smooth and hot beneath my touch.  
  
 

He watches me with his gaze swimming in a pool of lust as I stroke him up and down, pressing a kiss to the underside of his cock and following it up with another long lick - my stomach flipping as I momentarily lose my control and suck the tip between my lips. He bucks and curses with a broken halfhearted apology that only makes me want to take more of him into my mouth.  
  
 

Pressing against his thighs I slip my eye shut, breathing deeply through my nose as he bucks again while sliding further in, his heavy weight foreign on my tongue but oh so delightful. It's awkward, having my mouth filled with his sex but I give it my best, sucking tightly and slurping around him, his noises rising in volume and intensity as I work.  
  
 

And god is it amazing, everything about him right now is amazing- from the way he's fisting my hair, to how his head jerks sharply to the other side after each swirl, his thighs straining against my grasp on them, the way my name falls from his lips after a particularly deep groan...  
  
 

I never want it to end.  
  
 

But then he's tugging sharply on my blond tresses, pulling me off him with a loud pop, his face completely flushed as he stares at me for a good long moment while trying to catch him breath. "B-better stop." He finally stammers, his fingers loosening slightly as I smirk up at him, loving how completely undone he is right now.  
  
 

"You know what I want then." I smile mischievously, my hands moving on their own to curl around his prick, his breath stuttering as I squeeze and stroke once more.    
  
 

He brushes a lock out of my eyes and blinks quickly while clearly trying to gather up his thoughts, his muscles straining while he keeps himself still under me.  "You'd take me wherever we were, march me down an alley or something and fuck me stupid into the wall. You wouldn't even say much just kiss me and fuck me for hours..." Harry spills his fantasy with a breathy exhale, chewing on his lip nervously and looking at me from the corner of his eye like he's thoroughly embarrassed of housing such thoughts.  
  
 

My mouth goes immediately dry at the extent of his feelings towards me, all that time, all that distance, and yet he still...I don't know what I did to warrant this, to warrant him.  
  
 

I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face as I surge up, crushing him into the bedding as I attack his mouth, pouring out the words I can't say in our kiss. "I need you now." I pant as all the air gets lost around us, my desire spiking and eclipsing everything else and all I want, all I need right now is to feel him completely.  
  
 

"Yes, fuck yes." He agrees wholeheartedly and I tell myself there will be plenty of time for hours of exploring his body later...next time. Right now I need to be connected with him, as completely as I can be.  
  
 

Holding myself above him with my hands planted on the mattress he quickly rids me of my trousers and boxers, my feet kicking them off the rest of the way as I lower myself down onto him again, groaning with him as we come into full contact with each other - our cocks rubbing together as our hips move in tandem. With a whoosh of air, he rolls atop me, straddling my hips and with a wicked smile that seems too strange and yet fitting on his face, he grabs my hand and promptly sucks one finger in till the base.  
  
 

My mouth drops open as I watch the digit emerge and disappear between his swollen lips with a moan vibrating along his tongue. "That is so sexy." I mutter, his green eyes opening and twinkling down at me as he sucks in another finger alongside it, twirling his tongue around them like his favorite flavored lollypop. I feel myself growing painfully hard as he laps at my fingers, his hips still moving with hard little thrusts down against me. When a third finger joins the other two, I groan loudly, using my free hand to grip and guide his hips in their movements.  
  


 

Harry smirks around my digits, twisting his fingers around both our erections simultaneously, pumping up and down with surprising ease. With one last wet lick he pulls his head back, leaning down against my chest and guiding my slicked fingers towards his backside. When the tip of my middle finger touches the tight ring of muscles at his opening it all comes sliding to a halt.  
  
 

And I...I can't...  
  
 

"Please Draco..." He whispers into my neck and I realize that I've gone completely rigid, my hand frozen in place and not moving an inch with a sudden trepidation of what we're about to do inching its way into my lust fueled haze.  
  
 

There's no coming back from this and as silly as that sounds, I know it's true. I may already be his, just like I always have been, but if I take him - connecting our bodies as much as our souls there will be no unwinding us. He will fall with me, I will be his undoing, and I may very well find myself undone in him as well.  
  
 

There's worse ways to fall though, as I so intimately know.  
  
 

"...Harry?" I ask, his name a question I can't voice but need answered, my arms encircling him and crushing him to myself. I'm tearing down the middle, desperate to be inside him, to say fuck it all to all the shit that my life has been wrought with, and at the same time...so fucking scared...  
  

 

"Draco, you..." He fumbles for his answer, pressing his forehead into mine as I stare at his closed eyes so close to my face that it's making my head hurt and go cross eyed - but I don't dare close them, not now, not while teetering on this brink that will change the course of my life. He presses a light, lovingly soft kiss to my lips, so very gentle in its touch and yet I can feel it all the way down to my toes, curling along my spine. "I need you and not just like this but...always. I need to see you in the mornings and hear your smooth voice dripping with your sarcasm. I need to feel the brush of your hand and watch the smile fight its way onto your face. I need your laugh and calm calculated way you explain things. I need your sour expression when you see something you don't like, all your obstinacy, I need it all, everything little thing. I'm not going anywhere...ever."  
  
 

Well fuck it.  
  
 

Cupping his face I pull him down into a long leisurely kiss that's filled with compassion and need and every little part of ourselves that we've been holding back - it's all there, our desire encroaching on the edges and making the light caress turn into a hungry embrace that leaves us gasping for air when we finally pull away.  
  
 

"I don't deserve you." I whisper into his ear, slightly disoriented for a moment as I realize that I'd rolled him sometime during the kiss back under me, his hands pinned above his head.  
  
 

He shudders and arches up into me, turning his head to capture my lips once more. "Yes you do." Then he's plunging his tongue into my mouth again, his knees lifting to curl up along his body as I reach down and circle a fingers along his puckered entrance, his newly freed hands grasping onto the bars of the headboard.  
  
 

Coaxing past his incredibly tight muscles and into his body and hearing his loud kneeing noise is like a heavenly song and it's a dizzying gasping affair as I work in and out before adding a second digit - watching the lines of his face as he bites his lip and blinks at the ceiling. He's so insanely tight I'm a little worried I won't fit when it comes down to it but his groans are growing louder, his hips jerking every now and then as I scissor my fingers.  
  
 

"More. Merlin mhmm more." He gasps out, his hands tightening around the bars, his arse lifting off the bed as he bears down on my hand. I oblige him, watching for any negative reaction as I press another finger in, his jaw clenching as I curl them inside him as he pumps his hips. "Ahhh yes, Draco, now...please now."  
  
 

I can't stop the sounds leaving my mouth as I he fucks himself on my fingers, his gaze locked on the ceiling and if it wasn't for the promise of filling him with something far more satisfying for us both I don't think I'd be able to pull them free. "You sure?" I ask, wanting to make sure he's completely prepared, knowing my own judgment might not be the best at the moment.  
  
 

His gaze flies to mine and I can't help but feel completely overwhelmed with him so openly exposed before me. "Fuck me now." He says clearly with punctuated intensity and I lick my lips at the display he makes, his knees pulled into his chest, his voice holding no room for debate.  
  
 

Then I remember I don't have any lubricant and I feel instantly panicky because I can't take him dry, not with how tight he is. I will not hurt him. Not like this anyway.  
  
 

He's watching me and I know he sees the distress flit across my face but then a moment later he's hooking his legs around my hips again, tugging me sharply down to him, my hands catching at the last moment on either side of him. He kisses me quickly, biting my bottom lip before letting his head flop back down. "Olive oil." He states and it takes all of two seconds to process what he's telling me. The grin that splits across my face is undignified and he laughs with a deep chuckle that sounds much too sexy. "Fucking hurry."  
  
 

"Impatient?" I tease, prying myself off him with a pang of loss and scramble to the kitchen with as much grace as I can while naked and aching to claim him.  
  
 

"Yes, I've been watching you exercise half naked for weeks! It took all I had not to pry those damn shorts off you and tie you to the bed and have my way with you." He calls to me and I stumble with a shiver, remembering the way his eyes darkened as he watched me from over his journal.  
  
 

I had no idea his thoughts were that...dirty though.  
  
 

I snag the bottle of oil and all but run back to the bed. "You have a filthy mind Harry."  
  
 

He nods as he watches me pour some into my hand, his gaze traveling down to lock on my fingers as I spread the oil over my throbbing prick. "When it comes to you I most certainly do." He whimpers as I move to coat his loosened hole with the excess. "Ohh yes, just do it damn it, I want to feel your cock in me."  
  
 

"I like this side of you." My voice is husky as his words draw me into position with unnaturally fast movements, his legs suddenly thrown over my shoulders, his body bending in half as I lean down into him.  
  
 

"Good. Now take me." He lifts his arse towards me, my slick head nudging into his clenched hole as we both gasp, his eyes screwing shut while he reaches out to grasp at my back. "Fuck!" He cries as his incredibly tight heat envelopes me, making me feel pulled from the inside out and I have to clench my jaw and shut my own eyes in order not end it all too soon.  
  
 

And then I'm fully sheathed and I have to count to ten and go through a rundown of my morning warm-up just to bring myself back under control because, holy fuck, he feels too amazing. "Alright?" I finally manage to gasp out, lifting my head from where it fell at his shoulder.  
  
 

"God yes." He moans despite the spike of pain I can detect in his face, his gaze wholly clouded and darker than I've ever seen it before. His fingers dig sharply into my back and I'm so utterly grateful for the pain lacing through the overpowering pleasure because I want to make this last as long as I possibly can...which in all honestly probably won't be all that long unfortunately.  
  
 

Shifting his legs just a little I pull out and push forward, noting the wince followed by the long groan on Harry's features - but he's encouraging me on and I let loose the reigns and pour into him as much as I dare. Keeping my thrusts shallow and slowly paced, dragging out our pleasure and reveling in the noises falling from his lips and the feel of him surrounding me so completely.  
  
 

It's heaven on Ecstasy, angles dancing on the four winds of the earth. It's everything.  
  
 

His mouth hangs open, little 'ohs' spilling out with every forward thrust, and I can't stop staring at his face, can't stop memorizing every little twitch of his throat and cheeks, ever little bite of his lip - it catapults itself atop the smell of sex filling the air and the sound of flesh smacking flesh. Then he's demanding more and harder and deeper and I can only give it to him with desperate eagerness.  
  
 

"Ahhhhhh fuck yes! Just like that!" He cries, his hands clamoring for the headboard again, grasping it so tight his knuckles turn white as I pound into him. His hips lifting to meet me thrust for thrust as my name falls like a chant from his lips, loud and cracking and filled with cries of wild abandon.  
  
 

And it's my near undoing, sweat clinging to my back and sliding down my forehead as he stares straight into me and I want him to have it all - to take me apart and remake me within his arms. "Harry oh god, you feel so good." I groan and lift up on my knees, driving straight down into him and watching as he's snapped in half, his face open and filled with cascading pleasure.  
  
 

My Savior. My Angle. My Love.  
  
 

"I-I'm...almost..." He pants and I find that as much as I want to make this last all night the desire to watch him come completely undone beneath me is too much to resist.  
  
 

"Yes, come for me Harry." I capture his lips in a deep kiss and redouble my efforts, trying to hold off my own growing and impending release until he's tipping over himself.  
  
 

It doesn't take long. A few deep, hard thrusts later and he's screaming into my mouth - his back arching off the bed, his body shaking violently as he comes in long hot spurts between us, his muscles clenching almost painfully tight around me and pulling my own orgasm from me. I join him in unearthly bliss, filling him as I continue to thrust into his slack and spent body, my mind and body and spirit soaring in an entirely different dimension that's made of sensations and joy so intense that I can barely breathe.   
  
 

When I float back down, the lights slowly reemerging, I find my head cradled in his neck with his legs looped around my waist - his hands trailing up and down my back as he lazily moves his hips, my over sensitive cock moving slowly within him. I grip his hip with one hand, stilling his movements and smiling against his skin at the pout I can nearly hear.  
  
 

"That was...brilliant." He whispers hoarsely and I can't do anything but agree, turning his head on the pillow and locking our lips in a long languid kiss.  
  
 

Brilliant doesn't even begin to describe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! But hope you found it worth it :)


	16. Rolling In The Deep

"You don't have to stay." Harry murmurs near my ear as Granger turns her back, arranging a stack of books next to a bubbling travel potions kit on my desk.

I glance over at him, his eyes shining with worry, not for the upcoming tests but for me. He's giving me an out, telling me I can flee the room and not subject myself to the swell of magic that's going to take place. But I can't do that, no matter how appealing it sounds, I need to be here. Need to see if she can pull any answers from her analysis. I put him in this mess, I can gather the strength to wade through it with him.

"Lie down on the bed Harry." Granger instructs clinically over her shoulder, handing off a stack of papers to Weasley - who looks utterly confused with what he's supposed to do with them. 

Then again he's look confused since they showed up.

Harry's green eyes jump to the bed before flickering back to me with a twitching smile that brings a blush unbidden to my cheeks.

 

As I watch him walk over to it, with a little twinge in his step that I can't help but smile at, I wish we had had more time before being thrown back into this mess of a life. We had lain entwined on the bed sheets, kissing lazily and caressing gently, time drifting on another plain altogether - but it was too short, too quick to come to an end. It came crashing back into reality at the knock on our door, Weasley calling to us as we scrambled for our clothes, Harry casting a quick cleaning charm. When we finally managed to right ourselves and open the door, out of breath and still unpleasantly sticky from our activities, we were meet with a suspicious blue gaze and a smothered smile from his wife to be at his right shoulder.  


 

It was all stunningly familiar.

 

Like we're destined to always be interrupted by them.

 

And already the fire is back, roaring beneath the surface, even though by all rights it should be sated, exhausted. But he's swinging his legs onto the bed with a knowing smirk on his lips, like he's reliving it himself and its throwing tinder on the smolders.

There's a part of me that wants to throw decorum to the wind and press him into the mattress, snogging him as if we were still alone. I want to feel him again, want to close any distance between us, knowing there's nothing but us. I want to reassure the thunder of fear and quell it with the touch of his skin, drown out the voices with his moans and screams.

The thing is...despite the desire, I don't quite know how to act around him now, the ground we're on vastly different than any we've trespassed before. I'm not one to shower my affection in public, especially with the very unique complications that any relationship we start is going to be burdened with. I'm not even completely sure where we stand, what with not having a chance to talk about it before or even after falling into bed together. I know what I want, I know what I need, but I also know what's best for him - and their not the same by a long shot.

It's a tangled fucked up mess.  


 

But then again there's not really a choice anymore is there? I knew that before sliding into his body, heard it ring through me as his eyes rolled back in his head, my name a plea that he couldn't help but whimper. I knew it as the sweat cooled, Harry keeping me from moving off him, keeping me inside him until the last possible moment. I saw it in his glowing eyes and grinning lips and delighted light laughter that rumbled through him as he came floating down from his post orgasmic high.  
  
 

He was utterly breathtaking through it all. Even as he stumbled into his jeans and cursed the mess on his stomach. Even as I pulled the door open while he frantically tried to get his hair to lie flat. 

 

Granger's speaking again and I try to wrangle my composure and pay attention, this is important after all. I hadn't expected her to come up with something so quickly...or at all really. But she had barged into my flat with Weasley trailing after her with a sheepish smile and promptly gave away the fact I had met with her that morning.

As she explained their sudden appearance, I could see Harry teetering on the fence between furious and grateful. It was strange to watch, his arms folded over his chest with his anger sparking and I'm not daft enough to not know why. He puzzled together I had gone to try and ship him off, he knows I had spilled part of what's been happening, and I'm positive he also figured out that she had told me. That Granger had filled me in on his missing story that he hadn't wanted to share with me. 

It felt all of sudden like a stunning betrayal of him, leaving me unable to look him in the eye as they debated back and forth. 

But he also seemed grateful as her explanation of the spells she wants to try to determine if the Madame has been up to anything nefarious with his blood came to a close. He had moved over to me as she set to work on preparing, touching my arm lightly, smiling coyly, and looking very much like he was going to kiss me right then and there. But he didn't, just let his touch linger a moment longer than necessary and lent his ear to Weasley going on about the local food - the red head purposely keeping his eyes skirting just shy of landing on me.

"Drink this." Granger hands Harry a small vial of steaming blue liquid as he settles on the bed, flicking open a roll of parchment as he takes it tentatively from her.

"What is it?" He asks skeptically.

"You wouldn't know even if I told you, so just plug your nose and down it." She mutters, dipping her quill in a pot of ink and scratching across the parchment in her hands.

"Gah, that's awful." Harry pulls a face, dropping the vial on the nightstand like it's going to lash out at him if he holds it a moment longer.

"I told you, now lay down and don't move." Granger drops the paper and pulls her wand, my feet wanting to back up automatically at the sight, but I don't give in - keeping my eyes locked on Harry in order to draw in the resolution I need. "Ronald stir that please."

"Er, the...potion?" He asks, peaking into the cauldron and winking his nose at whatever is brewing in its depths. It's painfully hard to keep from snickering at the anxiety on his face, I can plainly see he's terrified of touching it.

"Yes, you can't ruin it, five turns counter clockwise to every twelve clockwise." She checks the watch on her wrist and nods to no one in particular, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one but her is confident in her lovers ability to keep from destroying it.

"Perhaps Malfoy should..."

I suck in a sharp breath as Weasley trails off, his feet shifting back and forth, Granger's eyes snapping to mine with a calculating look that sinks right through my defenses. I can't do it, I'll barely be able to manage staying in the damn room, I can't pour myself into the mixing of a potion and not come undone. 

"You'll be fine Ron." She smiles at him, ending the debate with a finality in her voice. He grumbles something under his breath but picks up the wooden spoon and sets to work, the numbers he's ticking off a mumbled buzz around us. "Right now, here we go." She clears her throat and flourishes her wand over Harry's body, her lips moving silently.

I can see him straining to remain still, the worry he's managed to hid up until this moment coming through clearly now as he presses his thumb into the hollow of his elbow - over the exact spot of the now invisible needle pock. I have no idea what these tests will reveal and I can only pray fervently for nothing. That Granger won't be able to determine anything - that it will all turn out to be just some insane quirk of Safiya's. I've heard of things like that before, of people wearing vials of a loved one's blood around their neck...in the Madame's case I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she had some sort of sick collection of them.

God I hope that's all it is.

His fingers curl into a fist in the bedspread, his jaw tightening, eyes slipping shut while Granger's magic rises around us - centering intently on him. I know he doesn't feel it like I can, I know that it's not hurting him, that it's just nerves - that he just hates lying still and waiting around for things to happen. I know the heat I feel and the churn starting in my stomach isn't a mirror image of what's happening to him...logically I know all of this.

But he looks far too vulnerable, far too nervous, far too exposed - the tightness in his face drowning out Weasley's curses every time he accidentally misses a number, drowning out the deep ingrained desire to run far away in me. It's almost startling to feel the bed suddenly under me as I sit next to him, his gaze just as surprised as they fly open when the mattress dips - my hand finding its way automatically over his.

"You don't have to." He curls his fingers through mine as he, predictably, switches gears - well this is one time I'll allow it. Let him worry about me and my potential reaction, as long as it keeps him from sinking into all the ‘what if's’ of his own.

"Shut it Potter." I squeeze his hand, his dark curls against the white pillow such a lovely contrast.

"Thank you." He whispers, reaching over and clasping his free hand over my thigh.

"Stay still Harry." Granger chides, pausing in her casting for a moment to jot down a quick note before moving to the opposite side of the bed and starting again.

"Sorry." He doesn't bother looking at her, his finger twitching against my leg as he locks his eyes on mine. "So...secret meeting huh?" He quips with an arched eyebrow.

I glance at Granger before nodding once. "Well you were being ridiculously difficult."

He rolls his eyes dramatically, like he's trying to make up for not moving a muscle otherwise, all his sarcasm filling the one gesture. "Paid off didn't it?" He winks and I think I hear Granger falter in her near silent words for a second.

"Doesn't mean it was smart of you." I point out, my thumb running over the back of his hand.

I can see the muscles in his neck grow taunt as he struggles to keep still, to keep from turning his head towards me. "It absolutely does." He smiles at me and I feel myself returning the gesture with uncharacteristic ease.

We lapse into silence as Granger works over him, Weasley in the corner trying his hardest to be at least marginally capable at something he's always been terrible at. Despite the soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley around us, it's a surprisingly intimate moment. There's something about the magic she's using that's opening him up wider than ever before, like he's glowing around me - and if the room wasn't threatening to spin at the drop of a pin I may have given in and lain down next to him - pressing a kiss to his forehead and listening to the beat of his heart.

I feel like I can hear it as it is, so far away, yet loud and steady. I can feel it pulse through his fingers and into mine and I have the feeling that if I allowed myself to touch the pool of magic inside me that I could slip through the last of his barriers - that his thoughts could become one with mine, memories, past and present, mingled time and yearning.

"Draco." Harry croaks and there's a sense of squeezing towards a needle point, his voice pulling me through and under and...there's a brilliant light, a sensation of floating, then a gentle push...

His thoughts coil like braiding twine around mine and I'm overwhelmed with the sudden power of it. It isn't solid, it isn't coherent, it's an intense flash of raw emotion - pain and despair, worry and fear, need and lust, yearning and abandon. It's his voice whispering over my heart, tugging at me with the force of everything he's ever felt towards me, my name a central figure that flows with every little surge of feeling. The images that rush forward steal my breath and I feel myself tumbling backwards into them, desires I never knew dominating the flood and with a gasp I break back through the surface - finding myself suddenly back in my own mind, only seconds later but feeling inescapably...alone.

When my vision clears, it's immersed with his steady gaze, his mouth slightly open with a soft pant on his lips. And I just...I just...I haven't done that since I was sixteen. I didn't even mean to, the spell never even came to mind, he was just there - open beneath me and suddenly I was falling through. I just tripped into his mind and...I never meant to connect with the power inside me, I never meant...I just...holy fuck. 

Before I can think better of it, I lean down to capture his open mouth with my own, his thoughts still pumping through me, driving me into his arms that wrap tightly around me in an instant. But our lips never connect because Harry's eyes are tugging me under again, his fingers moving up - lacing through my hair until the tips of his thumbs are pressing into my temple.

I can see his lips moving, know he's speaking, but I'm slipping through - crashing like ink drops on muddled paper before coming to a screeching halt. With a blink I gather my senses, glancing around me to see that I'm hovering like an unearthly ghost in a pale white room - sickly in its decor, forgotten in the vestige of paint. I get the distinct impression that I've landed in a memory right where Harry wanted me too, like he plucked me up and dropped me here - to witness this moment in his history.

The room is small, nondescript, two stiff tiny beds, two squat nightstands with rounded corners, two miniature wardrobes hooked to the wall, one window with a pulse of protective magic overlooking a sunny landscape that can't possibly be real. There's no personal artifacts to be seen, nothing to hint at who lives here, but I know. I can feel it in Harry's thoughts, the despair that wells inside him, I know what this place is - the visage giving life to the reason he didn't come to see me while I was in the hospital.

The door swishes open on silent hinges, well oiled - quiet for midnight visits - and I turn towards it just as Harry comes shuffling in. I know he can't see me, can't hear me, that it's a memory and restricted to its time and place but I can't help but reach out, distressed at the sight he makes. He's devastatingly thin, even more so than I remember him being the day of the last battle. His hair is cropped short, no doubt like every other patient for convenience, and unwashed. There's a scruffy, straggly bead across his cheeks and chin, like a shadow that's bent on becoming something more.

 

But most terrifying is his eyes. The spark is gone, confronting me with the precise reality that Granger was talking about. The usually dancing emerald orbs are lifeless, deep with a haunted air that makes you want to look away lest you find yourself in the same wasteland.

He rakes a hand with a fine tremor through his spiky hair and glances around the room, those soulless eyes landing on the wardrobe in the far corner with an exasperated sigh. "You missed group therapy again." He announces to the empty room as he stalks over to the wooden structure, his voice low and raspy, like he doesn't spend a lot of time using it anymore.

He stops and taps his foot against the floor, waiting for...god knows what, before he huffs and yanks the wardrobe open with a sharp tug. "Are you trying to increase your stay?" He asks the darkness inside and I find myself taking careful, quiet steps towards him - moving slowly as if I'll spook him if I move too quickly.

"Ah you know me Harry, can't stand group, all those loons in a bloody circle crying their eyes out." The voice floating out of the blackness inside stops me cold because I know it. I know it more completely than I know most anyone else.

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching inside and pulling back on something. "Their the loons? You’re the one who spends all his time in a cupboard."

"Wardrobe Harry. It's a wardrobe." Blaise announces as he comes stumbling into the light, Harry's hand latched firmly around his forearm. I can't seem to tear my eyes from him, his dark features drawn and pierced with a perpetual sense of fear. He's wearing the same loose white shirt as Harry but he has the button's done up to the top of his throat, the cuffs tied secure around his wrists, the ends tucked neatly into the gray cotton trousers - the ends of his pant legs shoved into the lace-less boots.

Other than his fingers and face, there isn't a speck of skin showing, a stark contrast to Harry's state - the paler boy's own shirt nearly hanging off his shoulders, his trousers a drooping loop, his feet covered in black socks with a gaping hole in the big toe.

"Oh and that makes it all the better I take it?" Harry mutters, dropping himself onto the end of the bed and grasping his trembling hands over his elbows.

"Then group? Yes it does." Blaise tugs on his sleeve, curling his fingers up into the fabric. "And it's humorous you think they’re going to actually let you out of here if you go."

"They can't keep me here forever." Harry bites back and I wrap my arms about myself as the tremor takes up in his jaw - spreading through his body like a growing disease. I can't stand seeing it.

Blaise barks out a laugh. "Oh yes they can dear hero. You really think the world wants a twitchy, shaking, ranting, Harry Potter? Oh no, you're of much more use to them in here. Here you’re a devastating savior, having given your all to the cause, no one wants to actually see what that means." He flips his hand in the air, flopping down next to him.

"Take your fucking potion Blaise, you're getting bitchy again."

The chocolate boy clicks his tongue, shaking his head unrepentantly. "Bitchy, bitchy, yes, yes but it's true."

"I am getting out." Harry says firmly, staring down at the other boy with that stubborn Gryffindor resolve that cracks through past his brokenness.

"To see your lady love?" Blaise faints a blush, fanning himself dramatically, to which Harry glares vehemently. "Fine fine, boy love. Man love? Probably already bled to death down the hall love?"

Harry shoots to his feet as Blaise's dark eyes round wide, his own feet scrambling to the floor. He holds out his hands in a desperate plea as Harry fumes silently. "Fuck I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean it. I haven't...I hate those damn potions but I'll take them yeah? I'll do better...I'm sure he's fine you know. He's a stubborn git...he's fine..." Blaise rambles, breathing sharply through his nose, his tall frame hunching in on himself.

There's a long, tense, silent moment where I'm not sure if Harry's going to actually snap and attack the cowering boy or not. The whole scene is unnerving, both of them so set in uncharacteristic roles, like their stuck playing a part they can't break free from because something has shifted deep inside them.   

Harry's opening his mouth, his shoulders slumping, but I don't hear what he's saying - the scene suddenly speeding up like I'm watching one of his films on fast-forward. Their sliding around the room and the last thing I see is them sitting cross-legged on the bed - facing each other as their lips move unnaturally fast in a conversation I want desperately to hear. But it's all slipping away, growing distant and fuzzy before I feel myself tumbling once more out of Harry's mind, letting the memory settle back to where it belongs.

I blink and the Harry from here and now is back before me, his hands still on me, and his eyes shining with what can only be unshed tears. "I...didn't know..." It's the only thing I can think to say, my mind struggling to reconcile the things I just saw to the skewed view of the past I had. 

"I didn't want you to." He's quiet but I hear him and somewhere in the back of my mind I'm vaguely aware that Granger is no longer standing by the bed, that I can't hear Weasley counting any longer.

"Then why?" I ask, trying to shake off the image of his ghostly eyes as I try to understand. If he didn't want me to know than why did he clear the way to that particular memory? Why did he make the slip so easy that it happened with barely any effort on my part?

He pulls me down into a slow kiss that's filled with longing, my body moving to crush him tightly beneath me, needing to feel the pulse of his warmth. "Because you needed it."

Maybe that's true, I don't know, I can't figure it out right now - there's too much spinning around in my mind to settle on any one thing. Because not only did I just get a glimpse into his past, but I just saw Blaise in a completely backwards state, and most importantly I just used magic and I'm...okay. "So Blaise...?"

"Like I said, he was my roommate, we just happened to be in the Psyche Ward during that time. He had a run in with some...nasty curses." Harry runs his hands down my back and shifts into a more comfortable position under me.

"Did he get released?" 

Harry nods slowly. "Yeah...but he." He stops and glances around me with a little sigh at a noise sounding from the kitchen. "Let's finish this later."

Despite the need to dissect the situation, to drag out every little detail about the dark Slytherin, I know now isn't the time. That we aren't here to discuss the past but to make sure Harry's alright. With that in mind I move off him, watching as he slips from the bed and walks steadily into the kitchen with one last long look in my direction.

I can hear the murmuring voices as I sit on the edge of the mattress with a heaviness in my soul. I hate everything I just witnessed, I hate that he was held in that little room, forced to therapies that held no meaning to him, that he was in the same damn hospital as me and yet no one let us see each other – no one even told me.

I hate that I wasn't there for him.

The three of them reappear a moment later, Granger glancing curiously at me before pulling a knife from her bag and handing it to Harry. He takes it with steady fingers, nicking his palm and holding it over the stewing cauldron.

"Three drops." Granger tells him as the first crimson pebble drips down with a quiet simmer. "Now we wait."

****  
  
 

The rooms are always the same - old, dingy, caked with years of dirt and grime - and this one is no different. I can hear the crowd, mingling with the pumping music just beyond the door and down the hall. These rooms, these places, hold their own flavor, their own memories - fights and blood, glory and despair. The air is thick with it. I breathe it in, like an old friend coming back to life, it's a pit but it's my pit and I'm aching for the fight that tonight holds. I will win, I will pay off my debt, and I will break the clasp of her lock on me.  

 

I will no longer be her puppet and tonight will be the last time she pulls her strings.  

 

"You're smiling."  


 

Like a hundred times before, a record on perpetual repeat, I blink away from the stucco wall and focus my gaze on Caleb sitting in front of me - his fingers deftly wrapping my hands for the upcoming fight. "Am I?" I ask, even though I can feel the small curve, the muscles in my cheeks unused to the pull and stretch straining them so often.  
  
 

He nods, staring at his work with a distant gaze. "It's Harry...isn't it?"  
  
 

"Pardon?" He's not looking at me, intent on his work that he could do blindfolded by now, his voice quiet and tentative. I feel the silence stretch - so different and yet perfectly the same as so many times before - and I don't quite know what to say, oddly...nervous...of this conversation for some reason.  
  
 

Caleb takes a breath and glances up, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth. "It's funny, I've had a thing for you, you know? Stupid really." He chuckles and shrugs as I shift against the bench. "Never thought anything would come of it, could have sworn you were as straight as they came."  
  
 

I knew this, I could the feel the truth of it after Harry told me all those nights ago, but it's different - having it blatantly out in the open like this. I can't help but think of the last time we were here, the night Harry returned, with my only real friend aside from Donnie asking shyly about a nightcap after my supposed win. I can remember seeing his smile and thinking that maybe I could move on, maybe I could step out and allow more in than the causal arm’s length I kept everyone at.  
  
 

It really wasn't that long ago and yet...things couldn't be more different. I no longer have to chase the smile I wanted to forget but never could.  
  
 

"Caleb, I don't-"  
  
 

"You don't have to explain." He shifts to my other hand, my eyes noting the bruises blooming on his knuckles - kneeing me sharply with the reality that I've been so wrapped up in my own mess that I have no idea what's been going on with him. "You guys have always looked at each other like you two were the only people on the whole damn planet...even at the beginning when you were always pissed at him."  
  
 

I look down, watching his nimble fingers looping and looping the black cotton length, with a tugging smile that won't be subdued. "He's always had a way of getting under my skin." I reply as way of explanation, it's really the best I can do, considering the pure insanity our history is.  
  
 

"God you could say that." He grins at me, the action like a sponge set to work soaking up the damage our friendship has suffered the last few weeks. "I mean I was almost afraid for the poor guy, figured you'd end up beating the lights out of him or fucking him unconscious." I choke on the air abandoning my lungs at his crass assessment and he smirks. "So the latter then?"  
  
 

I feel my face heat up, my mind flooding with the memory of this morning - a frantic fucking in the shower with his back slipping up and down the slicked wall, watering dripping over his cheeks and into his open mouth as he scratched my back and screamed wantonly.  The marks are still there, visible on pale skin for all to see tonight, and for once there ones I'm not ashamed of - a part of my tapestry that brings life to my dreary soul. They’re his marks, lines that speak of the small sliver of possibility that I can be more than I am.  
  
 

Maybe. Just maybe.  
  
 

"I suppose you could say that." I drawl, regaining my composure and drawing myself into the lightness he's working on bringing back into our relationship.  
  
 

"Thought as much, I've never seen you this happy you know." Caleb finishes my second hand and sits back, studying my face and I don't know what to think of that statement. I'm not acting that differently, just a smile on my usually reserved facial features.   
  
 

I do feel different though, do feel happy, and I know it all has to do with Harry. But it's strange to think that he makes such a visible difference in my life, makes such a mark in me that others can see it just by looking at me. I suppose it shouldn't be surprising though, like staring at the sun, its light is bound to reflect on your face.  
  
 

"I am...happy, that is." I mutter, flexing my fingers in their bindings and feeling the thrill of it run up my arms. The crowd will swallow me up soon, I will beat Troy, and Harry...he'll be there...waiting. I've never had anyone to come home to after a fight before.  
  
 

"Well it's about time." Caleb sighs and ruffles his dusty brown locks. "You've been like a damn fortress since I've known you, glad you've finally let someone through."  
  
 

I nod, unsure if I agree or not. Yes I'm glad for Harry, yes I'm happier than I've been in years, yes I can't imagine breathing without him, but...I can't be happy I failed and let him through. I can't be proud of my pulling him into my darkness. Can't be proud of my weakness.  
  
 

"Do you think," I pause, collecting my thoughts and trying to funnel them into a single coherent question as he waits patiently. "We carve our own paths?" It's the best I can do, the question in my soul yearning for answers something I can't formulate out loud to him, to anyone really. This is as close as I can get to it.  
  
 

To his credit he doesn't immediately respond with a flat 'yes' or a laughing 'no'. He mulls it over in his head, his gaze wavering and I can't help but wish I knew a little more about him right now. I know so little of his past, but there's something there, something in the way he's pausing over his answer that speaks of his own path through this life. "I do." He replies carefully, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a gesture he does so very often I can't help but wonder what it's connected to. "There's too much shit in this life Dray. If we can't walk our own way than what the fuck are we here for?"  
  
 

"No destinies than?" I probe, his voice a wave that can't decide if it wants to crash over me or not.  
  
 

He does laugh this time but it isn't mocking or even joyful, it's almost...resigned. "Destinies, per-ordained tendencies, forks that always bend to the right...I don't know man. Seems like bull to me. I can't believe that some people are born to live high while others are forced through the slums because of some damn predetermined circumstances. Shit happens and we're too desperate to not look for some higher meaning in it. I don't know...if it's all pre-written than how do you explain anyone who breaks the mold?"  
  
 

There was a time I would have laughed if someone had told me they didn't believe in destinies. I would have grabbed Harry and shoved him in their faces, tapping his lightning scar, and daring them to say it again. Or I could have used myself, spun the tale of my upbringing and inevitable fall as a truly terrible Death Eater who hated what he was. I could have even pointed to our surprising relationship, two young boys in the midst of a war with far too much weight on their shoulders. We hated and clawed and bickered for years and years until one day...well all the hate was gone, replaced with friendship and then...more.  
  
 

But now as I sit and listen to Caleb, with my back smarting from Harry's passion and my heart pounding for him to always be near - god I just want him to be right. I want there to be no such thing as per-ordained lives, I want all the fucked up things we went through to be just that - fucked up circumstances. I want to be clean of them. I want to wash them from my skin. I want to be...whole.  
  
 

I want to live my life with Harry and not worry and grow sick with each new passing day that the wolf will tear from its sheep's clothing and destroy him. I want to truly say 'fuck off' to Bella's voice in my head, to scream at her that she's wrong, that she's always been wrong about me but...I can't, because I don't believe my own bravado.  
  
 

I want to believe Caleb that we are all our own person. I want to believe Harry that I am good and worthy of his love.  
  
 

I do...but I believe Bella instead.  
  
 

"Maybe some of us just aren't so lucky." I intone lowly, not sure if I'm even making any sense.  
  
 

Caleb clasps my shoulder, catching my eye and smiling his crooked smile. "Don't let the devil drag you down. You want your own path? Than just take it."  
  
 

I return his smile with a hard edged one of my own, grateful for him. "What about you? Ever think of leaving?"  
  
 

"Sometimes. I know I'll never be as good as you but man I love the fight."  
  
 

"Piece of advice?" I tilt my head, contemplating my wrapped hands, the black cotton spun so tight.  
  
 

He quirks his eyebrow but nods anyway. "Sure, why not."  
  
 

"Don't get tangled up with Madame Safiya, she'll make your life nothing but hell." I warn him, feeling oddly protective of him right now, like a younger brother I never had - watching him gazing over a cliff and debating to jump or not.  
  
 

He laughs with a barking crack. "Yeah, I noticed." The laughter fades in slow waves before he's contemplating me again, worry taking flight in the lines of his carefree face. "Dray?"  
  
 

"Mhmm?" I stretch my arms above my head, the noise of the crowd outside swelling, reminding me that I need to be prepping.  
  
 

"I'm glad for you, you know? You deserve this.""  
  
 

I'm quiet for a long moment, unsure why the small sentiment is so nice to hear. But maybe it shouldn't be so surprising, years of near isolation and on the run, I always thought I was alone but I wasn't, I had him and Donnie - my own little family. "Thank you." I reply and when he pulls me into a hug I don't recoil or tense or feel any sort of pain from the embrace - instead I return it, clapping his back once and firmly before releasing him.  
  
 

"Ready to kick some ass?" He grins as he pulls back, bouncing to his feet like an eager teenager.  
  
 

"Always." My own smile is savage, watching him slipping on the focus mitts and calmly rising to my feet. I hate that Donnie's not here, especially for this fight, but Madame Safiya has kept him on a rather tight leash as of late, calling him away before Caleb had even begun preparing my hands.  
  
 

The thought's driven from my mind a second later as I catch a glimpse of raven hair from the corner of my eye, my vision quickly swinging in its direction with a panic that Bella's rematerialized here and now of all times. But it's not her, my breath returning with a thump of my heart as I spot Harry leaning causally against the door frame, watching me with a quiet smile.  
  
 

Shockingly his hair is tousled almost stylishly - well as much as I think is possible for him anyway - one of my midnight black Muay Thai tee's fitting tightly across his torso with hip hugging acid washed jeans that cap around the thick black boots adorning his feet. Put simply he is dressed very ordinarily and looks completely stunning. I think I could get used to seeing him in my clothes. His green eyes are sparking with smugness when my gaze makes its way back up to his face, like he knows exactly the picture he makes and what it's doing to me.  
  
 

"Hey Harry." I hear Caleb call out next to me. "Excited for the fight?"  
  
 

"Very much." Harry pushes off the jam and walks towards us, a swing in his step, like he's preparing for his own victory. "It's packed out there."  
  
 

"How did you get back here?" I ask, his head cocking with that look that always spells mischief.  
  
 

Caleb snorts and palms off the mitts he just finished putting on. "Real nice Dray, accusing your boyfriend is a great way to start things off with a bang."  
  
 

"His what?" Harry asks, fighting a grin of pure triumph and losing miserably.  
  
 

"I don't recall saying any such thing." I can feel the flush on my cheeks, my hands tugging my shirt up and over my head in an effort to just do something...anything besides just standing here like a blushing idiot.  
  
 

"Right." Caleb mutters sarcastically, shaking his head at me. "So you just got an overzealous masseuse than?" He quips, eyeing my back as I turn to toe my shoes off under the bench.  
  
 

Harry blushes and scratches at his scar. "Heh. Nope that was me." He laughs, with surprising confidence despite his embarrassed twitch.  
  
 

Caleb whistles low and long, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. "Got a fighter on your hands eh Dray?"  
  
 

"Oh sod off." I grumble, annoyed with my own embarrassment more than anything else.  
  
 

"Okay, okay, see you out there." He nods to me once more then with a wink in Harry's direction breezes out the door, his foot catching it and sending it shut with a loud, vibrating thwack.  
  
 

"You know," Harry starts, stalking towards me and reaching out to run a light caress down the scratches he left behind earlier. "It does look a bit...did I hurt you?"  
  
 

I straighten up and snatch his hand away from his exploration and growing concern. "Did I look like I wasn't enjoying it?"  
  
 

"Umm...well..." He ponders, using my hold on him to pull me to him with our hands resting on the small of his back. "I may of have been a bit preoccupied to notice if you weren't..."  
  
 

"Were you indeed?" I feel my body heat up with his closeness, I don't think I'll ever get used to the flame he ignites within me with so simple a touch.  
  
 

He throws his free arm around my neck and nods. "Oh yes, I think that may be my new favorite way to shower."  
  
 

"Certainly takes longer."  
  
 

"But much more fun." He points out.  
  
 

"Guess we'll need a larger water heater than." I lean down towards him, hovering my mouth above his with a hairs breath between them.  
  
 

"Seems so." He closes the distance, sucking my bottom lip between his, his tongue running languidly over it before giving in and pressing up into a hard kiss that steals our breath in a matter of moments.  
  
 

It's uncanny how quickly I get lost in him, running my hands through his hair and down his body, tugging him against me and grasping his backside with a sudden, unquenchable hunger for him. He makes me want to forget everything outside of us, makes me want to speak the words that will lock the door impenetrably and bend him over the bench. Makes me wish time could stand still, except for us, moving together in our own time and eternity.  
  
 

"Harry." I gasp for air, pressing my cheek into his and holding him close, suddenly trembling with the need to tell him.

I've never said the words before, not even all those years ago when the opportunity was ripe and waiting. I always kept them close, bound up and out of earshot.  
  
 

They are sacred to me, always have been.  
  
 

They weren't spoken in my family. Not between my mother and father, nor between them and me. I believe my mother loved me even if she never said it, I knew my father only tolerated me, sometimes even despised me. There was never a place for them. It was simply not done no matter how much my young heart yearned for them. I've never even been truly tempted to say them before, I've toyed with the idea, know it wouldn't have been a lie if I had whispered them in his ear as he had lain in my arms one evening with the trees towering around us. But...I don't know...there's some power in them that scares me, a power I haven't wanted to mess with.  
  
 

And yet now with my fight mere minutes away, the outcome tipping heavily with how the rest of my future will pan out, I find myself wanting to. Maybe because I'm terrified it will all go south...again. Maybe I'm terrified that this will be my last moment with him. Maybe I just need to say it, need to release it and let everything fall where it may. Maybe it's all the above.  
  
 

My thumb runs down his jaw as I tip his face up to mine, sinking in his intense green that is blinding this close. Perhaps it's a selfish desire, perhaps I should lock them back away, never to be spoken. The pad of my thumb brushes across his plump lip, damp with the passion of our embrace.  
  
 

"You're making me nervous again." He whispers, an echo of the other day, though he's steadier than he was then - no trembling or anxiety in his body this time.  
  
 

"You'll wait for me...after the match?" I'm a fucking coward.  
  
 

He grins salaciously, humming in the way he always does when his thoughts are turning to the gutter. "Oh yeah. I have plans for you as soon as you finish."  
  
 

"And what might they be?"  I feel my body respond in full force to the little suggestion, leaving a kiss against the curve of his neck.  
  
 

"You're a smart bloke, I'm sure you can figure it out." He mutters, fluttering light open mouthed kisses to my lips. "Let's just say I really feel like going for a ride..."  
  
 

Good lord I'm actually salivating as images of him with his head thrown back, his legs open and draped over me as he bounces up and down, rise to meet me.      
  
 

"Well darling, isn't this a delectable sight?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun - yes that’s me faking bad dramatic music, can’t help it ;)


	17. Wrapped in Ivy and Twine

  **Italics + Flashback to seventh year**

****   
  
  
  
_Getting into Hogwarts was harder than any of us imagined...kind of._  
  
 

_ Actually it was ridiculously easy, which for some reason sort of pissed me off. Perhaps it was the months and months of waiting and planning and...alright it was only two months but still. Shouldn't it have been harder? I mean for heaven's sake Harry's apparently had this brilliant map that shows all of Hogwarts, and I mean ALL of it, for years. It even has these handy little footprints that show where everyone is at all times...no wonder the witless trio was able to get away with so much. _   
  
 

_ He also apparently used it to stalk me in sixth year - which I already vaguely knew about but it was fun to see him stammer and blush and try to talk his way into making it sound like a completely sane things to do. _   
  
 

_ So he's had this amazing map, knew all the secret passages, and we waited around because...why? I have no fucking clue. If we had waited any longer school would have been out and I can't decide if that would have made what we need to do easier or harder. But alas I shan't ever find out. _   
  
 

_ What I did get to find out though was what a number of stinging, bat bogey, itching, and a plethora of other hexes felt like when getting hit with them all - at once. It was hell. Pure and utter hell. One would think if your longtime friend and gorgeously barmy hero of all mankind walked back into your life - your pitiful, awful, screwy life - followed by his well-known lemmings and me that you'd fall to the logical conclusion. _   
  
 

_ That despite all odds I was indeed WITH them. They did not completely fall off the wagon, spilling the last of their brains, and just didn't happen to notice me. I mean honestly, Harry was SMILING at me when we walked in the room. How can that be construed as 'kill the bad, bad Slytherin, he has obviously snuck up on our all suffering savior without him knowing!' _   
  
 

_ I nearly cursed them. _   
  
 

_ The whole stinking lot of them. You know, once I regained control of my limbs. I actually almost did...well I actually did, but only one of them...some Hufflepuff before Harry snagged my arm and hauled me huffing indignantly around a corner. But really shouldn't he have been hauling them off? They’re the ones who started it after all. _   
  
 

_ And I told him as such, snapping my hair out of my eyes and trying to pretend that my face wasn't a brilliant shade of red. At which point he laughed and I scolded and was oh so close to hexing him myself when he was suddenly pressing me into the wall and kissing me blind. We weren't even alone, not really, just round the corner, anyone could have walked up and seen us. _   
  
 

_ Which added a strange sort of thrill to the whole thing, especially when he groaned and rubbed himself on my thigh. It's a bit wicked how much I love what I can do to him in such a short amount of time. _   
  
 

_ Course no one did see us, which is just my luck - good or bad I'm not sure, because as much as I would have delighted in witnessing the doubtless fainting spells and subsequent crying, I may not have come out of it alive. Not a bad way to go considering. If I had to pick between being tortured to death by a demented snake man who has delusions of grandeur and being snogged to death by Harry Potter, well...not much of a contest now is it? _   
  
 

_ By the time we reemerged, looking a slight worse for the wear, Granger and the Weasley boy...oh fuck it, Ron...had explained the situation. But I swear the Weasley bint was grinning - probably assuming we had gotten into a tussle, stupid slut. Ha, if only she knew how her ex liked to be rolled under me and snogged till he's forced to wear glamour’s the next day to hide the marks. _   
  
 

_ Or maybe I could tell her about last night - when he joined me outside to keep me 'company' while I was on lookout duty and then preceded to climb atop my lap and wiggle about till he had to muffle a loud groan in the crook of my neck as he came in his pants. God I wish I had a picture of the look on his face after that, all flushed and giddy and embarrassed and horny as hell. _   
  
 

_ Anyway... _   
  
 

_ Now they all just glare at me with barely veiled contempt but it's better than fending off a slew of hexes. It's just getting annoying, we've been sitting around in this damn room for hours and still...if looks could kill the weaselett would have me stuffed and mounted by now. And worst of all she won't stop TOUCHING him! _   
  
 

_ Its little things here and there, a hand on his knee, her head on his shoulder, a brush of her fingers against his... _   
  
 

_ But can I do anything about it? No, of course not, because not even the lemmings know about us. But he's not doing anything either and that is making my blood boil. I mean yes, he looks uncomfortable, yes he keeps shooting me little glances like he wishes he could get up and come sit next to me instead, yes he keeps inching away - but does the ginger whore pick up on it? Oh no, she just keeps touching what's mine. _   
  
 

_ "Watch it there Malfoy." _   
  
 

_ I nearly jump out of my skin as my death glare shifts from Ginny's hand creeping atop Harry's thigh to Longbottom as he plops down next to me. Neville bloody Longbottom...sitting next to me, with a knowing little smirk! Have I died and this is my own little hell? Harry getting groped by the Weasley girl while Longbottom swaggers around with the sudden charisma and courage of a...I don't even know. _   
  
 

_ A unicorn? _   
  
 

_ A centaur? _

__

_ A Harry Potter action figure charmed to life? _   
  
 

_ Whatever it is, it's just plain odd. What in the world happened to the stuttering, nervous idiot who could barely stand by himself?  _

__

_ He looks...good. Like he's completely embraced his long willowy limbs and snapped them into control, his mop of chocolate brown hair falling likes waves around his ears and giving him a rakish look - like a fucking pirate with his hand swinging his wand like a sword, his swagger commanding in each step. _   
  
 

_ It's weird and I do not like it. I mean...that's my smirk and swagger, is nothing sacred anymore? I've been gone for half a year and suddenly the world has gone completely upside down. _   
  
 

_ But apparently he's orchestrated this whole thing, using the Room of Requirements as a hideout from the Carrows. He keeps everyone, or at least everyone who’s not on the Dark side, inside this room with a very specific set of requirements that makes it impossible for anyone even supporting the Carrow's to get in. _   
  
 

_ Its genius actually. Course that doesn't mean I have to be nice... _   
  
 

_ Someone should suffer for this hell I’m in. _

  
  
_I cast him a look of reproach, schooling my features to bored indifference as I lean back against the wall, the mound of blankets shifting beneath me. "Haven't you heard? You’re not supposed to get this close to me, you might catch something." I drawl, pointing out the fact that no one has come even marginally close to my little corner of the room. Not once, it was amusing at first…for the first four hours that is but since then it’s lost its entertainment value._  
  
 

_ But of course, their much too busy sniffing around Potter. Seriously, there's a ring around him, all our former classmates vying for his attention and listening raptly to every word that falls ineloquently from his lips. Their like damn leeches, trying to suck the power out of him, pretending that they've been going through this whole thing with him, smiling and laughing and slapping him on the shoulder. _   
  
 

_ But where were they when the horcrux almost killed him, where were they when we nearly died in Gringotts, where were they each and every time he's woken up from a horrible nightmare? But their acting like it's been them to comfort him each night he can't calm himself down instead of me (and alright the lemmings too but mostly just me as of late), that it's them whose been by his side the whole time, nearly starving and freezing to death. _   
  
 

_ I know life for them here hasn't been great, I know it's horrible and that they've been fighting their own portion of the war but...I've been with him. I've been there each and every time he's needed me and yet I'm being forced into the corner, ostracized as they do their best to pretend that I'm not here. While SHE tries to weave him back around her dainty freckled hand. I can't stand it. _   
  
 

_ "I did actually, thought I'd take my chances." Longbottom makes himself comfortable beside me, linking his fingers behind his head nonchalantly. "Though you may want to stop staring at Harry like you're going to murder him and eat him for dinner." _   
  
 

_ "I'm not staring at Harry." I retort, emphasizing the boy wonder's name with my arms crossed angrily over my chest. Oh my god if she does not remove her hand I'm going to KILL her! _   
  
 

_ Longbottom grunts thoughtfully, nodding his head with dawning understanding. "Ah, Ginny then?" _   
  
 

_ "You mean the fame whore?" I bite out - seriously why is he letting her lean against him? _   
  
 

_ "You know," Longbottom gives me a funny little look as he stretches his long legs out in front of him. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were jealous." _   
  
 

_ "I'm a Malfoy." I huff haughtily, wishing we hadn't come here after all - what I wouldn't give to be back in our woods. Alone. _   
  
 

_ It's strange being around so many people after so many months in near solitude. It's strange having to share Harry's time with hordes of others and there's a part of me that's a little...worried. Because it has been just the four of us, Weasley and Granger, and Harry and me, and...what if...what if everything changes now? _   
  
 

_ What if I was just some damn place holder? Someone to quench his lonely nights. It's hard to believe it of him, what with his unstoppable honor bound nature I can't see him stringing anyone along. But maybe he didn't realize he's been doing it, maybe he thought he wanted me until he saw her again.  
  
  _   
  
 

_ Dear god the thought is making me near sick. Which in return is making me sick from being sick about it and damn it, what has he done to me?! I am not a love sick puppy to be petted and kicked away at will. _   
  
 

_ "That's...what is that supposed to mean?" He asks in confusion, staring intently at the hard lines of my face. _   
  
 

_ "Nothing." I sigh, forcing myself to calm down, it will not do for everyone to know - not with the delicate nature of our precarious situation. Plus I will not have a tantrum like a scorned school girl, I'll push it down and let it grow and stew like a man and then, when we're alone again, I'll make him remember why he never needs to look at another again. _   
  
 

_ "Right because it definitely looks like nothing." _   
  
 

_ I scowl and pry my eyes from Harry's face as his lips purse in thought from across the room. "Is there something you needed Longbottom or are you just desperate for company now that Potter's back in charge?" _   
  
 

_ "Touchy, touchy. You know it's that smart mouth of yours that's got you sitting all alone right now." He rebuts, rubbing a hand over his chin which is covered in a fine layer of stubble. Honestly even his facial hair is more robust now. _   
  
 

_ "Really?" I reply with dripping sarcasm. "Because I thought it had more to do with this?" My fingers twist painfully over the ugly mark barely visible under the cuff of my shirt, Longbottom's large eyes following the movement with care. "Move along now little one." I mutter, waiting for the pin to drop, for the revulsion to creep across his face as he staggers back from me. _   
  
 

_ But, shockingly, it doesn't come. _   
  
 

_ He scoffs and shakes his head in mild humor, which is just plain confusing. There is nothing humorous about this situation. "Always the charmer eh Malfoy? I just thought you'd like to know what their planning." He nods in the direction of the aforementioned Potter ring. _   
  
 

_ "Planning?" _   
  
 

_ "Yup planning." He answers and then...nothing. Seriously what is it with Gryffindor’s and not finishing their sentences? It's bloody infuriating! _   
  
 

_ "Well?" I probe, clearly annoyed and growing more so at the smile he flashes me. _   
  
 

_ "Oh now you want to talk to me?" He snickers and I debate jabbing one of his eyes out with the tip of my wand. I'm nearly positive that that thought comes out loud and clear across my face because his smile falters for all but a second before he's speaking again. "He's gone to talk to Ravenclaw's ghost." _   
  
 

_ "Helena?" I clarify after reaching into the furthest recesses of my mind and pulling the memory of the infamously reclusive Grey Lady to mind. I spoke to her once. In sixth year...I think she somehow knew what I was up to. She was cold and hard and brimming with rage, sending a chill up my spine at just the memory of her. _   
  
 

_ "That's the one." _   
  
 

_ "Why would he - wait GONE?" I snap back around, my gaze fitting back to the center of the ring where he should be sitting, where that little whore has been hanging all over him like a second stinky shirt, but it's empty - the entire mass completely lacking one raven haired mess of a boy who has a penchant for bursting head long into dangerous situations without pausing to consider the consequences and notifying his...ME! "Damn it! Where'd he go!?" _   
  
 

_ "I just told you, to talk to Ravenclaw's ghost." Longbottom answers slowly, eyeing me like I'm foaming from the mouth. _   
  
 

_ "I know that, I want to know where that is?" I demand, hopping to my feet and feeling the restlessness the past hours have been wrought with spring over me with renewed vigor. _   
  
 

_ "Ravenclaw tower I assume." _   
  
 

_ I nod once, quickly and without really looking back at him as I make my way across the room, my gaze fixed on Granger and Weasley - the new center of the damn circle. There's a murmur of discontent as I push my way through, heated gazes filled with malicious hated burning into me from all sides, leaving me wanting to flip them off with a completely rude and crass gesture that I usually deem beneath me. _   
  
 

_ I refrain...but just barely. _   
  
 

_ "Granger, a word?" I stop before her, her gaze startled and yet almost resigned at the same time, like she just knew I was bound to burst into the circle and demand her time any second now. _   
  
 

_ "What do you want Malfoy?" Ginny huffs, flipping her ginger hair over her shoulder, looking far too happy and smug - too much Potter contact no doubt, making her feel special again. _   
  
 

_ "I wasn't addressing you, so kindly keep that gaping trap of yours shut, my ears are much too sensitive for your screech." I let my eyes linger disdainfully on her in a bored, disgusted manner - the small action making me feel marginally better at the murderous look crossing her face. _   
  
 

_ "Say that again ferret face." She squawks, threatening me with no meat behind it. _   
  
 

_ "Or what? You'll get your little friends to hex me again?" _   
  
 

_ "Malfoy." Ron warns quietly, almost tiredly, splitting his gaze between me and his sister with resignation. _   
  
 

_ "No I'll do it myself." She growls, raising her wand in her hand - the hand that was just on Harry and I can't stop the thought from blooming, raising a horrific and stupid question in my mind. _   
  
 

_ I suddenly can't stop picturing them together - that hand on his bare body, caressing his flesh and pulling those deep, vibrating moans from his throat that he makes when he's past the point of caring to try and keep quiet. Did he whimper her name like he does mine? Did he kiss her with the same passion he snogs me with? Was he as desperate to feel any part of her body as he is when we're alone? Has she seen his eyes darken to the forest green of the night with lust? Has she felt his hands shaking against her bare skin? _   
  
 

_ The questions won't stop coming, growing and expanding in my mind in a pointless loop. And it shouldn't matter if she has, I know it shouldn't, but damn it, the very idea of it is like a hammer to my heart. _

__

_ “You’re just a piece of slimy trash that Harry’s too nice to toss out.” She rebuts smugly with a triumphant sneer on her grossly dotted face.   _   
  
 

_ "Fucking slut -" I hear myself hissing like a detachment of myself, ringing in my ears before I'm getting cut off by Granger hauling me backwards while Ron detains his suddenly furious sister, her slight body raging against her much larger brother.  
  
  _   
  
 

_ "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?!" She screams at him, Ron's face a bright crimson as he mumbles under her shrieks and keeps her thrashing body in his arms. _   
  
 

_ "Let me go Granger." I command, yanking out of her grasp and whirling around, stalking away from the group with irrational anger simmering in my veins. I have got to calm down, what the hell is wrong with me? Her words mean nothing, she’s just a vile child, aching for Harry’s love again. _   
  
 

_ "What was that all about?" She demands, following after at a rapid clip. _   
  
 

_ "Did he take the map?" I ignore her question, stopping beside the door leading to the castle, to the dangerous halls that Harry's wandering. _   
  
 

_ "No...a Ravenclaw is leading him there." She answers, shifting on her feet and glancing behind us at the still steaming Weasley bint. _   
  
 

_ "Give it to me." I demand holding my hand out, almost expecting to see it shaking with the surge of emotions running through me. I'm not used to this, I'm not used to FEELING so much, I used to be so good at pushing it all down. I was bloody brilliant at compartmentalizing, but there's something about being back here, about being in this damn magical room that I nearly drove myself mental in trying to repair that damn cabinet with my family’s life hanging over my head, that's making everything strangely acute. _   
  
 

_ I feel torn and open, bleeding my fear and need and desire out like ripped scabs. _   
  
 

_ "Why?" She crosses her arms exasperatedly. "He'll be back soon Malfoy." _   
  
 

_ "Just give it me." I hiss lowly, my gaze hard and unflinching. She stares right back at me, just as stubborn as I am. "Fine." I intone through clenched teeth, turning sharply and reaching for the door, determined to find him, to make sure he doesn't get himself fucking killed...god knows he's running out of lives. _   
  
 

_ Then I hear Granger sighing a soft "sorry," a second before I feel it hit, the spell snapping my legs and arms into my sides - freezing me in place, the ground rushing towards me with an upwards tilt as I fall into a dizzy sleep. _   
  
 

_ ** _   
  
 

_ "Draco?"  The voice is soft and familiar, dragging across my skin and forcing a shiver through my limbs as I stir beneath the fluffy blankets. "You awake?" It asks and I shake my head, feeling a grogginess in my brain as I slowly come to, pulling with it the memory of Granger hexing me. _   
  
 

_ I will curse her. _   
  
 

_ My heavy eyes fly open as I shoot upright, blinking in the darkened room, my unfocused eyes quickly taking in the mass of sleeping people around us. "Fuck." I grip my head, trying to recall the last several hours and coming up blank. Probably because I wasn't conscious for them. Oh yes, she's going to pay. _   
  
 

_ "Hey shhh." Harry grabs me and in a flurry of movement I suddenly find myself back under the blankets, this time with Harry looming over me, the covers pulled up and over our heads - hiding us from the snoring room - a quickly muttered 'lumos' lighting our little hideout. "You'll wake everyone up." He smiles his charming smile, sitting on my lap with his elbows supporting him on either side of my head. _   
  
 

_ "Potter." I glare at him, watching the laughing smile falter. "Where have you been?" _   
  
 

_ He looks bashful, biting into his lip and glancing down and away from my narrowed gaze. "I had to talk to the Grey Lady." He explains, pausing expectantly like he's waiting for me to suddenly be okay with him up and leaving without a word. Well he'll be waiting forever for that, my look clearly stating so. "...She doesn't like people...recluse and all...alone was best..." He tries a smile then quickly abandons it for a small frown. "Why are you mad?" _   
  
 

_ "Why am I mad?" I repeat incredulously. "I don't know Potter, perhaps because you just up and disappeared." His frown deepens as I speak, a twitch in his cheek. "Or maybe it's because you couldn't keep your damn hands off that ginger slut. Take your pick." That last part slips out without my consent, revealing my insecurities to his ears, his eye's widening in the dim glow around us. _   
  
 

_ "Ginny?" He asks in disbelief. "What are you talking about?" _   
  
 

_ I feel very much like shoving him off me, pulling the blankets from us, and taking a giant gulp of clear air, but I can't. I'm stuck glaring at him as we whisper back and forth in order to not wake anyone and draw attention to ourselves. "I'm talking about you and her nearly groping each other earlier." Alright so I'm exaggerating but I can't help it, I'm still hopelessly pissed at him. _   
  
 

_ "I was not!" Harry retorts, looking so thoroughly confused that I feel my anger shift down a degree, my brain peddling fast to catch up to the irrational emotions I'm flinging at him. _   
  
 

_ "Well you didn't stop her." I pout, yes pout, I'm not proud but there it is. _   
  
 

_ He smiles a slow coy smile, his body relaxing down atop me. "You're jealous." He points out with a little chuckle that I want to throttle from his throat. _   
  
 

_ "Why does everyone keep saying that?" I grumble, trying to ignore the way his smile and twinkling eyes are unraveling my indignation and pulling me into him. _   
  
 

_ "Everyone?" He screws his nose up, cocking his head in the way that I always find much too irresistible. He reaches over and runs a hand through my hair, wrapping his fingers in the fine tresses and pulling till my throats exposed in a pale curving expanse that he promptly descends upon - his hot mouth running over the sensitive skin with inside melting licks. "God that's hot." He mumbles against his work, pulling my earlobe between his teeth as he spreads his legs and sinks his entire weight of his lower half on me. _   
  
 

_ "What is?" I ask confused, because a moment ago I was glaring vehemently, not something that usually results in Harry grinding down against me with a surprising hard on as he feasts on my neck.  _   
  
 

_ "I like you jealous, it's cute." He rocks forward, sending blood pumping down and away from where I need it right now. _   
  
 

_ "I am not being cute Potter." I object, clamoring for my trademark sneer and failing miserably as his movements draw out a burning need from within me. "And I'm still mad so stop it." _   
  
 

_ He chuckles and runs a hand up under my shirt. "You don't feel mad." He sticks out his lower lip in a pout as he circles his hips, pulling an unwanted moan from my throat. _   
  
 

_ "That's because you’re fighting dirty." I gasp and refuse to give in and arch my spine up into him, my mind growing muddled with each passing moment.  _

__

_ Damn him, he's too bloody good at distracting me. _   
  
 

_ He grins and nods. "It's going pretty well for our first fight then." _   
  
 

_ "This is not our first fight." _   
  
 

_ "It is as a...since we've...you know." He blushes as he prattles, losing his upper hand in his nervousness at almost labeling whatever we are. "I mean, I just..." _   
  
 

_ "Did you fuck her?" I blurt out, his body jerking up, his mouth snapping shut around whatever it was he was about to say. _   
  
 

_ "What?" _   
  
 

_ "Ginny, did you fuck her? And are you sure you broke up with her because she doesn't seem to know that." I let it all come out in a rush, desperate for the answers and dreading it at the same time. _   
  
 

_ "Of course I'm sure!" He yelps, than with a panic pokes his head from the blankets for a second before he's back, mumbling a quick silencing charm around us. "She’s just…and I didn't...I haven't...I mean I haven't been with...anyone...so yeah..." He flushes furiously as he rambles, refusing to meet my eye as he gnaws on his poor abused lip. _   
  
 

_ Gripping the back of his head, I force him to look down at me, staring into his embarrassed gaze - his declaration producing a wave of conflicting emotions from triumph to joy to curiosity to my own dry mouthed nervousness. "No one?" I ask, for some reason needing to hear him say it again.  _

__

__

_ He nods his head, ducking it as much as he can in my hold and I press my hand under his chin, drawing him down into a light kiss. _   
  
 

_ "Have you...?" _   
  
 

_ "Not...completely." I tell him and he smiles shyly. _   
  
 

_ "Anyone I need to be jealous of?" He drops his mouth back onto mine for another caressing kiss that's turning wet and sloppy in a matter of moments before he pulls back once more - our heavy breathing adding to the thick muggy air of our blanket fort. _   
  
 

_ I run my hands down his back and tug him tightly to me, my palm stopping to press flat and hard against his denim clad arse. "Definitely not." He outright grins, splitting his cheeks and squinting his eyes and crinkling his nose, causing me to lick my suddenly dry lips. "Need to be running off now?" I ask, dipping my fingers under the band of his jeans, my heart lurching at the darkening of his eyes and the thump of his heart against my chest. _   
  
 

_ "No, thought I could stay and make it up to you for leaving earlier." He leans down until his lips are brushing the shell of my ear as he shifts atop me. "There's something I've been wanting to try." He mutters breathily, lighting an excited buzz through my veins. _   
  
 

_ "And what's that?" _   
  
 

_ He slips his hand over my hip, shifting his body just slightly so he can press his fingers over the button of my trousers. "Can I..." he trails off, pulling me into a desperate and urgent kiss that leaves me dizzy and I get the feeling that he's trying to draw courage for his request from it. “I want to taste you." He whispers against my lips, eliciting a shiver over my entire body at his words. _   
  
 

_ "Now?" I ask, nearly breathless with anticipation but keenly aware of all the bodies around us. He nods, looking anxious and eager at the same time. "Alright." I answer and he looks so insanely happy at me granting him permission to suck my cock that I can't stop the little chuckle and the swell of emotions that comes with it. _   
  
 

_ His hand fumbles with my button for a second before he stops, kissing me once more. "I am sorry for leaving like that." He apologizes, the button popping free, his fingers dipping quickly inside. "Oh and Draco?" _   
  
 

_ "Mhmm?" I ask, my ability to keep any train of thought quickly deteriorating as he wraps his fingers around my hard prick - the light touch somehow always managing to take me off guard with how incredible it feels. _   
  
 

_ "Just thought you should know...we're leaving for Albania tomorrow." And with that confusing declaration he shimmies down my body and sets to work at granting his own wish. _   
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
The cultured curl of her words sits like a block of ice, cracking over my flushed body and trapping us still, our eyes locked on each other - his mouth still pressed lightly to mine, his fingers curling into my skin as his jaw tightens beneath my hands. It's like a nightmare come to life, a stomaching flipping moment with Harry turned immediately and as suddenly as a snap of the fingers into something ugly and horrible. His gaze darkens and shifts and I can read the thoughts spinning through them, know them as intimately as my own because they are twins right now.  
  
 

Doom is the word that comes most readily to mind.  
  
 

"You two make a stunning contrast." Safiya continues, floating atop the sudden chill in the room, my gaze shifting sideways to her as I pull my head back - Harry's fingers dropping to dig into my hips. "Like oil and water, shaken and settling." She steps into the room, her bodyguards following at a respectful distance.  
  
 

"Need something?" Harry quips with a tightness to his voice that doesn't bode well for anyone it's directed at, my hands falling from his face as I move out of his embrace - but not far, just a brush away, ready to sweep him up and away if need be.  
  
 

Her cool blue gaze shifts up and down his body slowly, purposely, calculating before even flicking to me once. "Manners, Mr. Potter." She chides, a finger set to tap against her plump, red painted lips. "I have business with Mr. Evans if you recall."  
  
 

I can feel the indigent and possessive rage build in him, stringing him taut, pulling a snarl on his still wet lips. With a swift step forward and a quick quelling look in his direction, I position myself just slightly in front of him, drawing her attention back to me once more - severing Harry's no doubt ill planned insult that would have spelled some terrible misfortune for us both. "And that is?" I prompt, my hands clenching behind my back as I watch the lines of the two bodyguards positioned just inside the door.  
  
 

One of them is Timothy, the sodding bloke who threatened to carve me into a painting the night I lost. The snarl that's a perfect replica of Harry's from a moment ago forces itself onto my face as I spare him a second glance. I feel a hand slip into the rigid bend of mine, his fingers relinquishing warmth back into the instantly frozen digits at the sight of her.  
  
 

"Always business with you dear, never pleasure." Safiya sighs with a dramatic air, pausing with a pointed look at where Harry's holding my hand, even though she can't see it - it's unsettling all the same.  
  
 

"I prefer to keep them separate."  
  
 

"Mhmm pity." She sways towards us, running a light fingers across her bottom lip and then against my jaw, Harry hissing in a breath and going as rigid as a marble statue in a flash. "And if I prefer not to?"  
  
 

"Then find it somewhere else." Harry grinds out, stepping up beside me.  
  
 

"Temper dear." She shakes her head softly, smiling at the rage in the lines of his face and the danger in his eyes. "It could be profitable to you as well you know. The two of you together...such an experience would surely rake in the riches, you could have each other while they have you." She says with sugar sweet tones laced with brutality. "There will be others who would be only inclined to...watch."  
  
 

There's a sickness in her words that eats at me, trying to rot the beauty of our joining, festering in a cancerous blister. The thought of making love to Harry while others touch him or me or even just caress us with their eyes making me nearly spit in anger, clenching and relaxing my free hand in effort to keep from throttling her.  
  
 

"We don't share." Harry sneers, speaking the words in my mind out loud.  
  
 

"You might when you see the sum..."  
  
 

"Doubt it." His tone is flat and deadly serious, his fingers holding mine grasping so painfully tight that he may end up breaking a bone if he's not careful.  
  
 

Safiya smiles then, the sight sinking any glimmer of hope that we'll get out of this unscathed. "Possessive man you've captured Mr. Evans."  
  
 

"You haven't answered my question." I reply, refusing to be pulled into her newest web and doing my best to ignore the simmering heat of power wafting off Harry. "What did you want?"  
  
 

"There's so many things I want darling." She shifts her eyes to him once more, a hunger in her gaze that's frightening. It isn't exactly sexual, it's not the look of lust crazed desires, but it's perfectly predatory in its nature, promising something I can't fully comprehend but know I never want to experience.  
  
 

I tug him sharply behind me again, keeping him there with a painful twist of his wrist - a silent warning and plead to just stay put. "Leave him out of it."  
  
 

"Are you offering something better?" She flicks a thick dark curl over her shoulder with a calculated toss of her head, her gaze positively gleaming.  
  
 

"Our deal was for the match tonight." I state bluntly. "Going back on your word?" I challenge, hoping to appeal to her strange sense of honor.  
  
 

"Indeed it was and you'll forgive me for the curiosity of course." Her fingers are on her own jaw again, trailing along the curve with a feathery touch that scarps with sensuality. "I'm here to inform you of the rest of the specifications."  
  
 

"Specifications?" I ask, dreading her answer. Of course there's more to it, it was juvenile of me to believe otherwise.   
  
 

She nods once, curtly. "I want him taken out in the first round."  
  
 

I suck in a breath, feeling a small gnawing ball of nervousness grow in the pit of my stomach. I don't doubt I can beat him but Troy is good and getting a knock out in the first round will be difficult. "And if I don't manage it?"  
  
 

"Then we unravel your other...talents." She lets her gaze linger with the pause in her breath for a long tense moment. "Regardless the outcome we'll discuss it further tomorrow night at my estate, I'm throwing a little celebration party." She flickers her eyes once to Harry over my shoulder with a little chuckle. "Don't worry darling, you can come too, in fact I insist."  
  
 

"Celebration?" I ask, latching onto the one telling word in it all. "And what are we celebrating?"  
  
 

"Our victory of course." She answers smoothly, emphasizing 'our' in a way that doesn't sit well with me.  
  
 

Somehow I get the impression she's not talking about me winning the fight and her winning her money back.

I'm left staring silently at her, running through the possibilities in my head with Harry's warmth at my back and Safiya's ice at my front and somewhere in between is me but with each turn it's getting harder to tell where she wants me - how she wants to position me and Harry for her madness. And I still can't figure out why.

It can’t just be the money, there has to be more to it to hold her interest for long.  
  
 

"Ten minutes Dray." One of the bouncers pops his head in the room, delivering the news with professional detachment before moving on without a backwards glance at the scene before him.  
  
 

"I'll be going then. Good luck." She winks and twirls around on her tall white pumps, breezing from the room with the body guards following after.  
  
 

The door bangs shut without either of us moving and turning around and taking in the look crossing Harry's face I realize belatedly that I did it. That I slipped and preformed accidental magic again like an untrained child. Barely even felt the power leave me...it's unnerving.  
  
 

"You're not going." He states plainly, his stance hard and stubborn.  
  
 

"One thing at a time I think." I mutter, letting my head hang with the heaviness pumping through me. "Any word from Granger?" I ask, hoping beyond hope that she's received the answers from her tests and that they proved to show nothing.  
  
 

"Not yet, she's waiting to hear back from someone in the Ministry and the potion won't be done for a couple more days." He gives me a tight smile, pulling me to him and burring his face in my shoulder. "We're cursed with bad timing." He chuckles and I can only nod, wrapping my arms around him - keeping him safe in my embrace, at least for now. "Can you do it?"  
  
 

"Do what?" I ask, breathing in his scent and trying to recollect my focus, time is ticking away and I need to be ready.  
  
 

"Beat him that fast?"  
  
 

"It won't be easy." I answer honestly, pulling back to look down into his concerned face. "I need you to promise me something."  
  
 

"What?" He asks suspiciously.  
  
 

"If she comes near you tonight or things look like they’re going south...I need you to leave right away. Alright?"  
  
 

"Ah, this again?" He tries a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes, it's a fake thing that looks strange and unfitting on his features.  
  
 

"I'm serious Harry, I can't concentrate like I need to if I'm worrying about you. I need you to swear you'll do this." I know this is an old argument, something that's plagued us since he's been back, but I can't stop it, I need to know he'll be alright while I'm in the ring - especially now that Safiya's seen us together, that there's no longer any doubt of the nature of our relationship.  
  
 

He contemplates me for a moment before sighing heavily, his eyelids drooping with near resignation. "Ron and Hermione will be here you know, nothing is going to happen, I'll be fine." I don't answer, the thought of his friends being here soothing a bit of my fears but it's not enough. I need his word. "Fine, alright." He snaps, scowling at me. "I'll go to the flat if she starts something."  
  
 

"Or if I lose."  
  
 

"No."  
  
 

"Harry."  
  
 

"Draco you can stop now, I'm not leaving you to her if you lose so just get that through your head right now." He states flatly, giving me the look that says there's no use arguing with him. “You should be getting ready yeah?”  
  
 

I nod, giving in and giving up, knowing I wouldn't leave him if our situations were reversed. "You know sometimes I think it would be easiest to just Obliviate her." I chuckle, stepping back from him and rolling my shoulders, my feet starting to jog quickly in place - warming up for the match that's looming just ahead.  
  
 

"I couldn't agree more." He flops down on the bench, his eyes never leaving me as I move across the floor - boxing the air and feeling my blood starting to pump hotly through me, my muscles loosening up and coiling in anticipation. "God I love watching you work out."  
  
 

I smirk at him as I drop a knee to the floor, feeling the stretch along my calf. "Are you perpetually horny?"  
  
 

"Mm-hmm. You're just incredibly hot." He leans back and lets his lustful gaze slip up and down me, the pure want in his expression causing little butterflies to flutter through me.  
  
 

There's a knock on the door and the calling out of two minutes and I force myself to look away from him, pulling myself together and clearing my mind from the electric buzz occupying it.  
  
 

I feel a thin cooling sheen of sweat break out across my brow, my stomach twining with Harry's proximity and the pumping adrenaline mingling with Safiya's threats. It all hits me in one jumbled skip of nerves as I push myself down into a pinpoint, sucking the air into my lungs, letting the beat of my heart flow out through my limbs. I focus my all on the call of the fight, letting it relight the smoldering kindle within me.  
  
 

Glancing up I catch the sight of endless green, the press of his presence still all around me, despite the rituals to boil it all away.  
  
 

Grabbing him by the belt loop I haul him off the bench and towards the door with me, an utterly different thump coursing through me for the first time ever before a fight. But it's not distracting like I always thought it would be, it's empowering. He's smiling at me as I walk backwards, compressing everything but the rhythm of the fight and the curve of his lips. There's nothing outside it now, not even the Madame can taint it in this moment.  
  
 

The doorknob feels cool in my palm as I reach behind myself and twist it open, tugging sharply on his loop as I do, catching him against myself. "Wish me luck." I drawl, the thump, thump, thump of the music and the stomping of feet and my heart and his all collapsing together in a maddening high. I feel elated with him in my arms, like I can do this, I can win in the first round. I can knock Troy to the ground and come out tall. I can have my victory.  
  
 

Then I will take Harry and lose myself in him once more.  
  
 

"Good luck."  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ten points if you know why Albania of all places ;)


	18. Reaching a Fever Pitch

****   
  
  
  
The crowd is thunder.  
  
 

It rains down from all around, like a tornado of sound, whipping and flinging about all in its wake. It drives the next person down the line to a new level of hyper-awareness, blood pumping in his ears, his feet stomping, his throat scratching with shouts, spittle flying in their wake - only to be repeated all over again, like an airborne plague.  
  
 

I stand in the middle of it.  
  
 

I know it's there, can feel it through my bare feet, a vibrating beat that brings a grin to my lips. I love this, love the smell of the cramped space, the muted ring that crests in my ears - it's been too long since I've been in a proper fight, too long since I stood in the ring with the beauty of tradition sanctifying it. There is nothing gritty and debouched about this match.  
  
 

Thing is where I belong - with Harry leaning against the balcony rail, his gaze a tangible thing I can feel in the back of my head. It quickens my heart and sharpens my focus till I can see the minute lines of my opponents face from across the ring.

Troy is short and bulky, tan lined skin like stripes of thick bandages around his arms and thighs, his hair a fiery red that rivals the Weasley clan pulled back in a tight braid down this neck. He doesn't smile, his expression grim, respectful, his bows at the corners of the ring made with a wordless prayer on his thin lips. His Ram Muay is a dance of perfection, the coil of taut muscles in his back pulled in and flexed, a quiet strength that waits like a cobra sated by a lullaby.  
  
 

The crowd hisses and shouts as we face one other, hands clasped in respect, his gaze strong and solid. He's not nervous but neither am I.  
  
 

"Don't let him in." Donnie pulls the ceremonial headband from my forehead, grasping my temples and pulling me in close for last minute advice, his arms obstructing the movement of his mouth. "Cut above the eye and use your feet."  
  
 

I frown, staring into my trainers’ worried gaze. "Blind him?" I ask, picturing the dripping blood flooding his vision and colliding to match his hair in a matted swamp.  
  
 

"Distract him Dray, you need to fast to pull him out in the first round." Donnie grabs the mouth piece from Caleb and shoves it between my lips before I can get a word out, already knowing that I'm not a fan of this plan. It's perfectly legal I just don't like it, it feels...cheap. "Watch his feet alright, he comes in fast and has an expert cut."  
  
 

Ah, that's why. Cut his brow or fight through my own red tinted vision. I nod in understanding and he sends me a wobbly smile on his thickly lined face.  
  
 

"Five minutes is all you got, you can do it, just don't dance around alright?" He presses his forehead to mine with a quick squeeze of his palms against my temple.  
  
 

"No going all nutty this time." Caleb chimes in oh so helpfully with his boyish smile and clap on my back, ignoring my muffled scowl.  
  
 

The bell tolls, striking the clock on the precious minutes I have to secure my victory, the clash of noise snapping to the back of my mind as I meld towards Troy, fists up and loose. There's no time for testing his strength, for reading the way he bends and shifts in his stance, or calculating the swing of his arms and legs. I come at him fast and hard, the first punch taking him off guard, square in his chest, spinning on my feet and spending a solid kick to his momentarily weakened core.  
  
 

He recovers quickly though, shaking himself free of the dizziness at the sudden attack and dodging my next swing. Everything condenses down into a slow rung film with my heart in my ears as we attack and retreat, attack and retreat, painful blows landing and glancing off and quivering through our entire beings. The ticking clock like an activated bomb in those cheesy actions flicks Harry likes behind each and every step forward and surge backwards. It pings loudly, with a thick dong, dong, dong and I can hear it pierce the invisible time that commands me as I leap forward and manage to bring my elbow up and over his brow, slashing the skin like a sharpened knife with perfect precision.  
  
 

The blood leaks crimson, smearing across his sun exposed face with a brushing hand, like acrylics - thick and desperate to clot as it runs free.  
  
 

He retaliates in a flash, his arm surging out with rage and bursting strength and I just barely manage to miss it, flinging my body straight backwards with my feet planted apart - my back angling level with the ground as I press my palm into it, flipping my legs up at the same time and catching Troy across the ankles as I spin back up onto my feet. My knee flies at him as he falls, connecting with him sharply, my foot catching across the curve of his neck as he smacks into the ground. He hits with a solid sickening thud, his body lolling for a moment before he's staggering to his feet once more, my foot ready to meet him as I kick him back down.

And the film is suddenly caught on a skipping repeat, a roar of shouts, the vibrations moving through my leg each time he tries to rise unsuccessfully.  
  
 

This is it, the end, I know it is - he's struggling on the ground, his mind no doubt swimming in near unconsciousness as he tries to force himself back up. The moment he lifts up, I send my fist into his face - propelling him into the hazy world of running blood loss and woozy dreams. Then the mediator is counting, the numbers a solid smack in my thoughts that are waiting and waiting to hear it, for the end to be pronounced, for my victory to be sealed.  
  
 

In the first five minutes - the first round.  
  
 

The moment my wrist's grabbed and thrust into the air, the crowd erupting in a deafening high of shouts, I feel it all wind back down - every little flick of noise suddenly rushing at me, the adrenaline still racing through my veins splitting a grin on my face.  
  
 

I did it. I paid off my debt.  
  
 

There's a smack against my side, Caleb's laugh in my ear as he and Donnie rush me, yelling above the roar. I feel solid and steady and so fucking good right now that I can't concentrate on what their saying, my eye's searching out vivid green.  
  
 

"You did it! I can't believe you fucking did it!" Caleb shouts in a joyous whoop as I spit out the mouth guard.  
  
 

I hear my name ring throughout the room as Troy staggers to his feet, bloodied and limping his way over to me. His sticks out a hand and I grasp it as he mutters his defeat with honor bound tones, my own reply coming readily to my lips like a scrip permanently printed in my brain even though I'm barely catching onto them myself at the moment.  
  
 

But there's a touch of fingers over our hearts, heads tipping in a soft bow, all the right movements, all the right words. It's beautiful.  
  
 

Still everything around me feels like a foreign flood, running in slow motion - the arms waving in the air, money dropping back and forth, Donnie's voice in my ear, Caleb's contagious grin in the corner of my eye, Madame Safiya blanketed in curling shadows just overhead. I blink and Troy's dropped my hand, the crowd has grappled forward, nearly splitting the sides of the rings ropes. Donnie's grasping the thick braided ribbon that singles me as the official winner from the mediator but I pay it no heed - my gaze catching sight of Harry pushing through the crowd, his grin so wide I can see the rows of his pearly white teeth.  
  
 

I'm not sure if I give them any explanation before I'm slipping through the ropes, Harry skidding to a halt before me as he rocks on his heels - his hands twitching at his sides like he can't figure out how he's allowed to greet me right now.  
  
 

"You won!" Harry yells, his voice barely audible amongst the shouts and screams around us, bets settling with ecstatic winners and furious losers. "That was brilliant, I don't think Ron's going to ever look at you the same way again."  
  
 

"And you?" The bodies press around us, enthusiastic patrons smacking me on the back and sloshing their drinks in a sticky waterfall. I used to hate this part, used to leave as fast as I possibly could, unable to stand all the touching and screaming and shadow filled mirages. I would run back to the safety of my hotel room or flat or even the gym, anywhere the light penetrated to every corner of the room and silence was pronounced by a pin drop.  
  
 

"Oh I'm already past the point of no return." He laughs and yelps as I snag the front of his shirt and start dragging him after me, eager to leave but for a completely different reason than before.  
  
 

The door to the alley at the far end of the room is nearly impenetrable but with nudging shoulders and stern looks, we manage to make our way through the crowd, the old door giving way with little force - the press of bodies nearly shoving us out into the warm night without thought or consideration.  
  
 

"Skiving your own party?" Harry chuckles, his voice unnaturally loud in the sudden dim as the door bangs shut - blocking out the raucous sight inside, the ear piercing noise level reduced to a muted thud.  
  
 

"Not my party." I correct, pressing him into the rough side of the building as he all but giggles with elation.  
  
 

"Really? Cause you're the one who’s all sweaty from kicking that bloke’s arse." He says, wrinkling his nose up at me but winding his arms over my shoulders in the same breath anyway. "And you’re bleeding...right here." He brushes his thumb over my jaw with a tender touch.  
  
 

"Not nearly as bad as last time." I smile, his eyes glancing around the shady alley with recognition taking light in his gaze.  
  
 

"Let's keep it that way, no more knife wounds." He settles back against the wall, angling himself against me despite the slick stickiness covering my flesh in a thin sheen.  
  
 

Bracing one forearm against the wall next to his head and gripping his hip with the other, I move into him, my pulse lighting at the storm that rises like a flash flood in his irises. "No more, my debts paid in full." I wrap my fingers in the hem of his shirt, tugging on it with little jerks that sends his body tightly into mine.  
  
 

"Free man huh? So now what?" He tilts his head, exposing the long curve of his neck in a tantalizing display of skin.  
  
 

Leaning down, I lick a stripe up the length of his blatantly open flesh, ending at the shell of his ear and whispering hotly against the sensitive organ. "I recall something about you fantasizing about me marching you down an alley and fucking you until you can't walk."   
  
 

"Here? Now?" He gasps, melting into my chest and tightening his arms around my shoulders, a groan silenced on his lips with a sharp sinking of his teeth as I pull his earlobe into my mouth. "Oh god Draco." He shudders, any qualms he may have possessed about being taken in such a manner evaporating like mist in the burning desert sun.  
  
 

"Tell me you want it." I grasp his chin and angle his head sharply up and over, my teeth scraping along his throat as it works up and down with his labored breathing.  
  
 

"I want it." Harry rasps, his eyelids fighting a losing battle to remain open. "I want you now, just like this, fuck me hard."  
  
 

There's something about this night - the high of the fight, the glory of the win, the freedom of paying off my debt - all of it culminating in being back in this alley, the same festering place I first saw him again, dripping my own blood and terrified that he was real. It's all reaching a fever pitch inside me and I want to never be unraveled from him again.  
  
 

The touch of his lips is sweet against mine, the taste of mingled gin and lime on his tongue, his hands clamoring at my back as his head smacks back against the wall from the rocking press of my body and grip on his jaw. Our kiss is one of stacking claim, driving the peg down deep until it cannot be removed by any living thing, a band of ownership freely given and freely taken with the perfect blend of ourselves.  
  
 

There's a sharp bang in my ear, the noise sounding from inside the club, bringing back some of my muddled senses. Pulling back just enough to drag in a breath, my arms sneaking around him and holding him secure to me, I stare heavy eyed down into his flushed face - his own gaze a slow blinking disconnected movement as he sways in my embrace.  
  
 

"Why you stopping?" He mumbles, a gasp breaking his sentence short as I insert a knee between his legs, forcing him to straddle my thigh, my hand pressing against his arse and keeping him taut and still as I shift my leg up and down against the bulge in his jeans. "Oh!" He presses his face into my neck and there's a long moment where all he can do is shutter and moan and rock back into me before he’s seeking my lips out again in a hungry crash.  
  
 

"Damn Dray, can't you keep it in your pants for a night?"  
  
 

"Go away." Harry growls - the possessive, heady tone sending little shivers down my spine - his fingers threading through my hair and pulling me into him as I try to step back on instinct at the interruption.  
  
 

"Would if I could." Caleb grins, leaning against the open door, the noise and light spilling out of it and breaking the spell of our solitude. "But your friends are getting a bit annoying. The chick seems to think something dreadful is happening to you two out here."  
  
 

"You need new friends." I grumble and Harry sighs, letting his hands slide down my neck and rest against the rapid beat beneath my chest.  
  
 

"I'm starting to agree." He presses a light kiss to my lips before I pull back, the soaring elation from moments ago starting to fall like mist around me, cooling my sticky skin in the night air.  
  
 

"Might want to hurry unless you don't mind more people seeing you with your pants undone Harry." Caleb snickers and we both pause in our step, glancing down quickly as his fingers fumble over his fly, zipping and buttoning them up quickly with a blush on his cheeks.  
  
 

Funny, I don't remember doing that...  
  
 

He brushes past Caleb with a mumble I can't make out, slipping back into the mayhem inside with a backwards glance my way that screams disappointment. I can't help but agree whole heartedly, wishing I had made him take us back to the flat before we could be interrupted, I really should have known that we would be, when are we not?  
  
 

"The Madame left this for you." Caleb stops me at the door, holding out a neatly folded slip of paper of cream and yellow.

I eye it disdainfully before taking it from him, my fingers steady as I peel it open - the elegant lettering short and simple: 8 o'clock, Required.

"I got one too." He informs me as I crumble the summons for the party tomorrow in my fist. 

"Thought it a bit funny, seeing how she's never invited me to one before." He lets out a single high laugh that holds no humor as my eyes flash over to him.  
  
 

Of course, invite the right people and secure the guest of honors arrival, I could win a fortune betting that Donnie and Harry got one too. Maybe even Granger and Weasley if she's been paying close attention to the details - which she always is. Well she can play all she likes but I'm done. This is the last move, I will go but on my own terms, and end this once and for all.  
  
 

"Don't worry about it." I smile at him, clapping him once on the back like he's constantly doing to me when he feels like reassurance is in order. "I have a feeling it will all be settle before then."  
  
 

"What will?" He frowns, glancing as the summons drops from my fist to the hard dirty concrete. "Stop smiling like that, it's creepy."  
  
 

"Ah, thought you liked me smiling? Glad I'm happy and all that." I taunt, trying to liven the mood and detour him from asking probing questions.  
  
 

"Changed my mind, it's unnerving." He retorts, taking a half step back from me, eyeing me up and down like he's trying to piece something together.  
  
 

"Hey, come on, Ron and Hermione want to take us out." Harry pops his head back out the door, not failing to notice the furtive looks Caleb's sending me. "You're coming too." He tacks on with a vengeful smile.  
  
 

"Me? Why?" Caleb grumbles, glancing through the door and presumably to where Granger and Weasley are standing, reservation on his lips and I get the feeling he's not keen on spending the evening with the feisty chick who hounded him until he tracked us down.  
  
 

And Harry knows it, I can tell just by the curl of his lips.  
  
 

"Why not?" Harry replies too sweetly before popping back inside, leaving a scowling Caleb behind.  
  
 

"Do I have to?" He asks me. "Cause you know I think it might be more fun if it was just the four of you...five is a crowd and all..."  
  
 

"You're coming." I tell him, stepping to move past him and into the club to find Harry. "Payback is a bitch and Harry never lets anything go."  
  
 

"God you'd think I just tried to steal you from him or something instead of just opening a damn door and happening upon you two." He grumbles, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob like he's debating making a run for it. "And seriously that was insanely fast, how was I supposed to know you were about to get it on so quickly? I mean your all sweaty and bleeding...bleeding Dray! You're supposed to shower and bandage up first you know."  
  
 

"He didn't seem to mind."  
  
 

"I'm sure he didn't, you two are sickeningly obsessed with each other."   
  
 

I fight a smirk as the door bangs shut behind us, merging back into the flow of the over occupied room - the beginning of a plan taking shape in my mind with how to break any ties to Safiya as quickly and painlessly as possible. But firsts things first, Caleb's right, I need a shower.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
"I'm so bloody tired." Harry kicks his shoes off as I flip the lights on, shrugging out of my jacket and hanging it neatly in the wardrobe.  
  
 

"And drunk." I add, smiling behind my shoulder as he flops down onto the bed with one shoe still half way on.  
  
 

"Am not...tipsy maybe..." He grumbles, his arms flung high over his head in a boneless heap.  
  
 

"Can you walk a straight line?"  
  
 

"Can I ever?"  
  
 

"Good point." I chuckle and bend to undue the laces of my boots, concentrating on the feel of the rough black lines on my fingers, using it to steady the press of thoughts vying for dominance inside me. "Recite the alphabet backwards then?"  
  
 

"I'm tipsy Draco not a stone cold sober English Professor." He finally manages to fling his other shoe off, the black sole clanking against the nightstand.  
  
 

"That's a no then?" Stowing away my boots and closing the wardrobe softly, I turn back towards him, watching as he plants his newly freed feet on the edge of the mattress, his knees like sharp arrows in the air.  
  
 

"Yup. What time is it anyway?" He asks, rubbing a hand over his face and blinking up at the overhead light like it's firing little darts at him.  
  
 

I glance at the clock over the kitchen archway and don't believe my eyes for a moment, were we really out at the club that late? "Nearly three." I inform him, bending to grab my gym bag from under the desk and plunking it down on the hard wood.  
  
 

"In the morning?!" He sounds just as startled as I felt before groaning and closing his eyes tightly. "I hate Ron."  
  
 

My fingers find the clean set of black hand wraps with ease, pulling one of the rolls out with care. "He was a bit...enthusiastic." I concede, remembering how the redhead had dragged us from the upscale restaurant to the loud pulsing bar with a strange sort of glee, ordering shots for the five of us and rambling on and on, in a sea of conversation in a way I had never experienced from him before.  
  
 

He apparently really enjoyed the fight.  
  
 

"A bit?" Harry snorts, eyeing me from under his shielding hand. "I think he's your biggest fan now, which is just weird."  
  
 

"Feeling jealous?" I tease, knowing that the very notion of me and Weasley being completely and utterly ridiculous.  
  
 

He laughs, propping himself up on his elbows and gazing at me from between his knees. "I think we're safe there, Hermione's all that boy's ever seen."  
  
 

Unraveling the cotton wrap with slow precision movements, the black length growing between my hands, I smile back at him. "I think she's scared Caleb for life."  
  
 

"Mhmm, poor guy." He nods in agreement, his eye's following the unwinding movement of my fingers. "He really should have just kept him mouth shut after...what are you doing?"  
  
 

"Preparing." I answer simply, knowing it will quip his interest.  
  
 

He sits up a little straighter, the curiosity I knew would make an appearance taking light in his face. "...For...?"  
  
 

I feel a ball of nerves tighten in my stomach as my decision from earlier comes screeching into sharp reality. But I won't back down, not this time, this is what I want. This is what has been pressing at me for years, what took flight right before my fight before being smothered, what danced to life as I pressed him into the alley wall and kissed him. This is what's been nagging at the back of my heart all evening as we ate and drank and celebrated with our friends - what burned to an inferno as he stole kisses in darkened corners and behind turned backs, what nearly erupted prematurely as we walked back to my flat - with his hand shoved in my jackets pocket and his mouth on my cheek and neck, despite Caleb striding right next to me.  
  
 

"Take your clothes off." I instruct, ignoring his question and watching the darkness enter his irises, his breath hitching in a deep intake in his chest.  
  
 

He licks his lips and drops his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up fully and cocking his head at me. "Draco-"  
  
 

"Now." I interrupt him, feeling the nervousness in the pit of my stomach coiling hotly and transforming into a muted desire that's stirring to life as he nearly gets trapped in his shirt in his sudden eagerness to comply. When it falls to the floor - his back bouncing against the mattress as he falls back, his hips jerking up as he tugs the denim down to his knees - I nearly lose my composer and attack him, eager to feel him against me.  
  
 

But I have a plan and god help me I'm going to keep it.  
  
 

He kicks the jeans off his ankles with a huff, blinking up at me as he sits on the very edge of the bed in just his boxers, looking suddenly shy and anxious. "Your turn?" He asks, with a hopeful smile that would have melted my heart if it wasn't already a puddle in his hands.  
  
 

I shake my head and trace the dips in his stomach and curves of his hips and thighs with my eyes. "All of it."  
  
 

His fingers hook under the waistband of his dark green underwear as my gaze travels back up to lock with his, the last bit of material covering him following the same fate as the rest of them, gracing my floor and leaving him completely exposed and waiting - silently, expectantly.  
  
 

"Kneel in the middle of the bed." My voice is low and husky, my gaze darkened to the near black of desire like Harry always tells me they do when I'm past the point of reeling myself back in.    
  
 

He obeys with hands that shake just slightly as he moves, sitting back on his heels and pressing his palms into his naked thighs. He looks utterly beautiful, skin glowing in the soft light, lips wet and pressed firmly together like he's biting the insides of them, his cock already long and jutting straight up. For a man whose life has been wrought with pain and sacrifice, filled with circumstances outside his control, nearly everything he's loved ripped away from him as the world demanded his all, he's surprisingly...willing.  
  
 

It makes my heart threaten to explode if I think too closely on it, knowing that if I dwell on all he desires from me that I'll be unable to take a proper breath again.  
  
 

"Do you know what Muay means?" I ask, pulling the wrap tight between my out stretched hands and advancing on him.  
  
 

He glances to the wrap, up to me, and back down to it again. "No." He answers quietly. "I have a feeling you're going to tell me though." He smiles a little shakily, curling his fingers on his thigh as I stop at the edge of the bed. Placing a knee on the mattress I lean forward and capture his mouth in a light but promising kiss, my stomach fluttering at his little moan. "Does it mean you're going to shag me now?" His breath rattles a little as I pull away, the playful words alight with his barely suppressed want.  
  
 

I shake my head, walking on my knees until I'm behind him. "No." I breathe into his ear. "It means to bind together." Placing a kiss to his neck, I let the meaning wash over him, feeling it settle once more inside me as well.  
  
 

I've always loved symbolism.

It's been an overwhelming aspect of my life since I was infant - tradition and symbolism a fierce part of pureblood mentality and customs. I used to cling to it, just as my father did and his father before him. Then I grew and though my views on life and the insanity that is pureblood prejudice became clear to me, I never forgot my love for the beauty of tradition. There are few things I hold as dear as symbolism, few things that are so pure and lovely in my belief.      
  
 

I have to face Safiya tomorrow, before anyone is hurt, and I know I only have a fifty-fifty change of survival. I know I don't deserve Harry, I know that I will only end up hurting him. I know I can't be truly and forever bound to him as I desire. But I've decided to be selfish, I've decided to take this one last thing before I walk to what will probably turn out to be my ultimate fall. I know that it's not a real binding, that all this is symbolism and only holds the meaning that I place behind it myself.  
  
 

But that has to be enough.  
  
 

He sucks in a breath and sinks his back into my chest. "What are you saying?" He asks softly, keeping his hands against his legs, his body still except for the shiver that passes through him as I touch my lips to his shoulder.  
  
 

"Put your hands on the small of your back." I whisper and I just barely see his flash of teeth as he bites his bottom lip, his fingers curled into light fists as he follows my instruction. "You are mine Harry Potter." I let my voice drip with the heaviness of the meaning behind my words as I begin winding the cotton wrap around one of his wrists. "Are you not?" I question, letting him have a moment to refuse, to break away from me if he wills.  
  
 

Because I know that he knows that there's more to this than a simple sex game.  
  
 

"I am, I'm yours." Harry breathes heavily, his fingers twitching as I pull the cotton tight.  
  
 

Hearing him say it is the most perfect music to my ears, settling a burning in my chest. "Yes you are." Grabbing the other wrist I start winding the wrap around it as well, looping it back and forth over both his tender joints. "And I am yours."  
  
 

"Yes." He nearly sobs, craning his neck back and seeking out my mouth with his, my lips catching his in a kiss that's pouring with our declarations. It's always been there, it's always been waiting but until this moment it's never been released. "I love you." His eyes are lit with moisture as I finish binding his hands together, his voice a whimper.  
  
 

Wrapping my arms around him, my hands splayed flat against his chest, I tug him into me and kiss him once more - the power of his words soaring through me and threatening to break through every last barrier inside me. "Harry I...you have all of me. Never forget it."  
  
 

"You make it sound like you're leaving..."  
  
 

Running my hands down his rigid skin, I wrap my fingers around his hard member, watching him gulp and shutter in memorizing detail. "Not leaving." I tell him in twisted detail because I'm not running but the steps I'm going to take...I don't know where they'll lead. I brush my lips down his jaw and pepper them across his mouth as his head lays back against my shoulder.

"I want to be bound to you." I press him forward with my chest, nudging his legs apart until he's lying face down on the bed on his knees, with me pressed between them. "I'm going to take your body and make you inexplicably apart of me." His legs tremble as I squeeze his erection, leaving wet kisses against the tender curve of the back of his neck. "Do you want that Harry?"  
  
 

He nods with the side of the face pressed deeply into the bedding, his hands straining at his back as his hips twitch and move, making his cock slide through my closed fist. "Please."   
  
 

Snagging the bottle of oil that hasn't left my bedside since that first afternoon, I shift just slightly and after some awkward maneuvering manage to uncap it and coat my fingers. With one hand still around his prick, I press a slicked digit against his opening, nearly groaning aloud as he presses back into it, enveloping it in his tight heat.  
  
 

"You are my everything." I whisper into his ear as his breath catches and hips jerk, another finger joining the first inside his body. "Say it." I command, wanting to make sure my words hit fully in his addled mind, wanting him to never forget in case I don't make it back.  
  
 

"I am your everything." He gasps and arches his spine, undulating beneath me as his knees buckle and shake precariously. "And you're mine." He adds, my eyes screwing shut as I feel a well of emotion waft through me all over again, like a storm at sea that won't be abated. He moans my name as my fingers move and hook and coax his open, my body angling sharply over him in order to drown in his intoxicating kiss again.  
  
 

With a third and final digit, his shoulders drawing taut, I pull back from him, staring into his brilliant emerald eyes. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."  
  
 

"Sh-should get a mirror then." He tries a smirk but it fails as he groans and thrusts back onto me, his jaw slack and eyes fluttering. "Oh oh oh yess...Draco, I'm...stop, want you now."  
  
 

Curling my fingers up, I brush against the spot inside him that sends him careening and smile as he squeezes his eyes shut and cries out a loud curse. "You're still so tight." I inform him, sitting back and staring down as he moves back and forth, alternately grinding on my hand and slipping his leaking cock through my fingers.  
  
 

"Mhmm fuck...don't care." He tries to lift himself but only manages to glance at me from over his shoulder with blurry eyes and panting lips. "I like feeling...all of you."  
  
 

Placing a kiss right above where his bound hands meet on his back, I pull free from him, a flammable ignition in my chest as he stays perfectly still when I slip from the bed completely. He watches me closely, with a slipping gaze as I remove my clothes. "Do you remember our first time Harry?" I ask quietly as my shirt hits the floor next to his earlier abandoned one.  
  
 

"Vividly." He licks his lips as my hands undue my pants.  
  
 

"Tell me about it."  
  
 

If he finds my request odd, especially now, when he's kneeling naked face down and bound on the bed, he doesn't show it. Instead he smiles as I discard my pants and boxers and move to rejoin him. "It was raining." He starts as I position myself behind him once more. "We couldn't quite get the shield charm just right and ended up getting soaked in the warmed rain-n-n." He gasps and stutters to a stop as I press the tip of my slicked cock against his hole, not penetrating, just waiting...  
  
 

"And?" I urge him on, rubbing myself against him and watching as his tight ring of muscles clench and quiver - remembering that night so clearly, the messy awkwardness that was somehow still perfect even with the sticks jabbing into his back and into my elbows and knees.  
  
 

"We were making out and I asked you to shag me...it was amazing."  
  
 

"Amazing?" My chest rumbles with a deep chuckle as I watch his back heave with each breath. "You sprained your ankle."  
  
 

"And you nearly gave yourself a concussion." He counters with a fond smile. "But it was still brilliant."  
  
 

"Why?"  
  
 

"Because I loved you."  
  
 

Closing my eyes, I lean over him, nearly breaching him but keeping back just enough. "Say it again."  
  
 

"I loved you...I love you."  
  
 

Settling myself in the strength of his love, I reach deep inside my blood and allow myself to touch and draw out the coil of burning magic that's been festering for years. It's an erupting mingle of raw magic and remembered spells that spring to mind as I grasp the bindings between his hands - the long ends of the black wraps reaching up and winding around my own wrists with a wave of power that should frighten me.  
  
 

But it doesn't, not now, not with Harry in my arms.  
  
 

"What are you doing?" He asks, craning his neck back to try and see what's happening as his fingers curl around mine, seeking explanations.  
  
 

I hiss in a breath as the magic finishes its job, my hands bound securely with Harry's, in breathtaking symbolism - a crude form of handfasting. It holds no binding without the proper words but it's perfect as it is, exactly what I need and want.  
  
 

My little moment of eternity with Harry.  
  
 

Without warning and a sharp tug on our mutual binds, I send him smacking back onto me as I thrust forward, my cock sliding into his all-consuming heat with a grunt from my lips and breaking cry from Harry's. I give him all but a second to adjust before I'm pulling him back onto me again. "Harry..." I gasp and groan and feel him quaking around me, my eyesight darkening to pinpoints as everything is chipped away.  
  
 

"Yes, yes, yes!" He chants, anticipating my quick tugs and driving himself onto me, groaning loudly with each drag of my cock inside his passage, a whimper with each outward pull that threatens to leave him completely. "Harder Draco, fuckmefuckmefuckme...shit! Oh god grah!!"  
  
 

Time eclipses in a bending sort of way, covered in our sweaty bodies and cursing breaths and I try to concentrate on the look on his face as he's driven into the pillow - on how he smiles and moans each time he impales himself harshly on me, on the sight of my cock slipping in and out of his clenching red hole. He curls his fingers around mine as much as he can and there's a plea on his gaping open lips, vocalizing his love in a repetitive promise.  
  
 

I can feel the sweat collect on our bodies, glistening on his back and sticking my hair to my forehead, my forearms starting to burn pleasantly from keeping them taut and using them to pull him back onto my cock over and over and over again.

"You're going to come for me love." I rasp through the solid smack, smack, smack that's ringing in my ears, yanking back on our binding until I'm resting on my heels - supporting Harry with my chest as he's driven onto my lap.  
  
 

He moans and throws his head back onto my shoulder, his thighs bearing the brunt of his weight as he pushes himself up and down to meet my every thrust. "Don-don't wanna s-stop." He chokes out, bouncing as best he can in our mangled position.  
  
 

But I don't want to change it, I want to feel as much of him as possible when he's cresting over the edge, want to watch it overtake his face. "Look at me." I insist and capture his mouth the minute his eyes pop open and angle over to mine, his gaze so dark and lustful I could get lost in it forever. "Come now." I tell him, a strange desperate desire to have him shaking in his completion right this moment, like the act will solidify our sealing that's only real in my heart.  
  
 

"Dracooo fuck! I love you." He groans and then he's shaking just like I wanted, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide as saucers and locked on mine as he comes - my lips sealing over his and drowning out his cries and muffling mine as I join him in bliss.   
  
 

The wrap falls free from our hands a moment later as we ride the wave back down, pressed back to front, panting and feathering light kisses. I don't recall muttering the spell to loosen them or even thinking it but we suddenly have the movement of our arms back and before he can even register this fact, I'm gathering him up in my arms - tugging his boneless body around till he's facing me as we fall down onto the bed.  
  
 

"Are you always like that after a fight?" He asks with a sleepy grin, cuddling up against me and sighing contentedly.  
  
 

"Wouldn't know." I mutter, lifting his hand and admiring the red rings marring our wrists.  
  
 

"So...what was all that about?" He's staring at our wrists as well, eyeing me curiously out of the corner of his eye.  
  
 

"Didn't like it?"  
  
 

"Oh no I liked it. It was damn fantastic actually." He wraps one of his legs around mine, one hand lifting to brush through my hair. "Don't think I'll be able to sit properly tomorrow though." He mutters and I grin. "But you seemed...like there was more to it, you said...something about binding together...?"  
  
 

"Did I?" I quip an eyebrow and he frowns, smacking me lightly on the arm.  
  
 

"You know you did you prat. What...what did you mean by it?" He presses with a hopeful little lit to his voice that tugs at my heart.  
  
 

"Mhmm and I recall you saying something about not wanting to stop." I smirk at him, rolling atop him and silencing any further remarks with a long, heady kiss.  
  
 

The early hours of the morning dawn slowly, creeping upon us as we devour each other anew, his cries rising with the morning light - bringing with it the day I don't want to face. I hold it off as long as I can, losing myself in him over and over again.  
  
 

But it's coming, the time is here, just like Bella promised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Liked it? Hope so ;) And I'm going to try and get the rest of this posted within the next couple of days
> 
> 2nd to last flashback next chapter and a really long conversation between our boys…


	19. Shade of Shadows

Italics = flashback to seventh year

****  
  
  
  
_"You don't need to be worried."_

 

_The cup of hot water in my hands nearly singes my fingers as I jerk from the trance I had fallen into, realizing suddenly that I've been staring down the path that Harry and Weasley had disappeared down nearly an hour ago. I can't even make out their footprints anymore, a fresh layer of powder soft snow obscuring their tracks from view, like they had never even been there in the first place._  
  
 

_"I'm not worried." I counter, wrapping my fingers tightly around the mug, trying to draw the warmth of the hot beverage into my fingers._  
  
 

_Granger eyes me skeptically and places the book she’s been studying down in her lap. "Do you always have to be difficult?"_  
  
 

_ "I'm not being difficult." I grumble, sniffling a little as the cold seeps through the thick layers of my jacket and straight into my bones. Damn Albanian winters, why is it so bloody cold here?  _

__

_ It just figures that the last of the horcruxes would be hidden in a secluded mountain forest in the heart of Albania - Ravenclaws mysterious diadem, a priceless piece of jewelry impregnated with a slice of the Dark Lords soul and lying abandoned somewhere in this monstrous forest. _   


 

_Of course Helena's ghost couldn't tell us exactly where to find it, only a rough location and something about a tree. Bloody brilliant._  
  
 

_ Which is why we've been moving about this mountain side for...dear god seven months. Seven months of aimless searching and still nothing. It's been exhausting and cold and frustrating as hell - not to mention it's starting to get to Harry and not in the same way it's eating at all of us.  _

__

_It's affecting him deeper, prying at his heart with each new nightmare vision, driving him to levels of near panic as the end of each day comes and we still aren't any closer. The nights have become so horrible for him that he doesn't even try to fall asleep until Weasley and Granger are floating happy in dreamland - at which point he gets up, slinks across the tent, and climbs into bed with me, clinging so tight I find it a miracle I can manage to sleep at all._  
  
 

_Then again sometimes we don't, those are always the nights he's nearly bursting with anxiety - the nights he finds his outlet for all his anger and helplessness in molesting me repeatedly. Not that I mind. I actually quite like it, especially when he's so desperate that he nearly begs me to shag him with only a silencing and disillusion charm keeping our secret. I just don't like the fear that's behind it but I suppose there's worse things that he could be seeking as his release._  
  
 

_He's always gone before I or anyone else wakes though._  
  
 

_"Alright enough of this." Granger huffs haughtily, tossing her frizzy mane which is somehow even more uncontrollable in the cold, which I just find highly amusing, one would think it would have the opposite effect. "I know Malfoy."_  
  
 

_I feel my heart skip a little at that tiny sentence, no doubt a telling blush on my cheeks if not for the fact that their already cold and tinted from the frigid air. "Know what?" I feign innocents, cocking my head with eyes that reflect puzzlement I do not feel._  
  
 

_"About you and Harry. He's always been pants at hiding his feelings and well...you don't always remember to silence your part of the tent."_  
  
 

_ "Pardon?" I clear my throat, the mug suddenly too hot in my hands, embarrassment rising like heat waves. _   


 

_Granger purses her lips and squints her large doe eyes at me. "Want me to spell it out? Alright then, I heard and saw you two shagging awhile back, not to mention all the snogging that takes place while you two are on 'lookout' duty." She explains in a deadpan voice like she's practiced it in her head on multiple occasions, the only thing giving away her own embarrassment being the faint flush of red on her otherwise pale face._  
  
 

_There's a rushing in my ears, a sinking feeling in my stomach, a strange sense of sickness as I listen to her - my mind zeroing in on one word. "Saw?" I croak, my voice uncharacteristically hoarse._  
  
 

_"Yes well." She shifts on the little canvas folding chair and glances down briefly before squaring her shoulders and looking back up at me. "Like I said you two were being...loud...and it woke me up. Startled me actually, I thought something horrible was happening to Harry from the way he was..." She trails off and coughs, glancing away again. "But honestly what did you expect? Did you really think you'd never get caught? I mean you were shagging him over the side of your cot like-"_  
  
 

_"Stop!" I interject, my face no doubt as red as Weasley's beet face when he's exasperated and angry. "I don't need the details, I was there you know."_  
  
 

_"Right, sorry." She fidgets again and then huffs loudly. "Regardless, the point is that I know."_  
  
 

_I stare at her, my lips fixed in a straight line, waiting for the snarky comments to fill my brain and come leaking out - returning the rightful balance to our little world. But they never come, instead I just feel...nervous. I'm not sure why, surely his friends knowing won't have any effect on our relationship, Harry isn't that shallow but still..._  
  
 

_What if they actively oppose us?_  
  
 

_"Going to tell me to bugger off then?" I hear myself ask. "Hex me for daring to soil your precious savior?"_  
  
 

_"Oh come off it Malfoy." Granger rolls her eyes and I feel my pulse slow just slightly at the reaction. "I think...well he needs you, so...thank you."_  
  
 

_I furrow my brow and sit back further in my chair, hardly believing my ears. "Did you just thank me for fucking your best friend?"_  
  
 

_She scoffs and blushes something fierce. "No you prat. For being there for him, for giving him something...good in his life."_  
  
 

_"Good? Did you just call me good?" I ask suspiciously._  
  
 

_"Just take the compliment you pompous arse." She snaps as she tugs on the length of the crimson and gold scarf wrapped snugly around her neck._  
  
 

_ "Okay...so you know. Good." I try to smirk, to show her that I don't care one little iota what she thinks, that I don't need her blessing, but I have a feeling that I fail miserably - especially when she has the audacity to grin back at me. "What did you mean that I don't need to worry?" I ask, rounding our conversation back to its starting point, where the ground is safer and less...embarrassing. Seriously Harry is not allowed to work the charms anymore.  _

__

_ Heaven help us if we wake up Weasley some night - I think he might actually kill me if he's forced to witness me buggering his friend. _

__

_"You don't like it when Harry's gone for long." She informs me and I frown, not liking the implications of that assessment. Not to mention the fact that she noticed it._  
  


 

_ "Well can you blame me? He's a walking disaster!" I snap with narrowed eyes. _   
  

 

_"You don't need to get all indigent. I think it's sweet. But he'll be fine, they'll be back soon and you two can go 'gather wood' or something equally as silly and snog to your hearts content."_  
  
 

_"Sod off." I grumble, despising the little smirk playing on her lips._  
  
 

_"Or maybe you'd rather write him a sonnet and recite it to him?"_  
  
 

_"Shut up."_  
  
 

_"Maybe make a heart shaped card and smother the inside with kisses?"_  
  
 

_"I mean it Granger."_  
  
 

_"Perhaps gather a bouquet of flowers and declare your undying love?"_  
  
 

_"Watch it or I might just conveniently forget the silencing spell tonight." I huff, wishing desperately for the return of the taciturn Granger who rarely looked at or spoke to me._  
  
 

_"Oh yes that will show me, make sweet sweet love to him to prove how indifferent you are." She laughs, a loud shrill sound that I'm sure could start a damn avalanche somewhere._  
  
 

_"No but I'll-"_  
  
 

_"Draco, Hermione!" Harry's shout reaches us precisely two seconds before he's running around the bend in the trees with a glowing grin on his red face. "We did it!" He whoops, bouncing on his feet after he comes stumbling to a halt in front of us, a dirt encrusted, moldy, smelly box under his arm._  
  
 

_"Did what?" I ask, eyeing the foul thing with a mix of excitement and unease._  
  
 

_"Found the horcrux." Weasley chimes in and when did he sneak back? Surely he was wasn't there the same time Harry came running in. Was he?_  
  
 

_Harry nods enthusiastically and tosses the box to Granger just as she's opening her mouth to no doubt demand to see it. "It was hidden under this massive tree not far from here."_  
  
 

_"How did you find it then?" I ask, watching as she pries the lid off the box, her eyes glowing wide as she stares down into its contents._  
  
 

_"I don't know really, I just started feeling really -"_  
  
 

_"Bitchy." Weasley interrupts. "He was suddenly incredibly bitchy and wouldn't stop complaining and then he kept talking about how sick he was feeling and well-"_  
  
 

_"I was not being bitchy." Harry grumbles. "It just...affected me."_  
  
 

_"Yeah it did, made you bitchy."_  
  
 

_ "Will you stop staying bitchy? Makes me sound like a damn girl." Harry frowns and Granger snickers discreetly behind the box, her gaze jumping to mine for a brief moment - leaving me blinking back at her...because it felt like she just tried to share an inside joke with me...about what, who knows? _

__

_That her friend likes to take it like he’s a bleeding girl? Because if that’s it then that’s just odd and highly…uncomfortable. There is nothing girly about Harry, he’s completely, overwhelmingly male._  
  
 

_"Well whatever it made you feel, this is fantastic Harry!" Granger beams, holding the box out to me._  
  
 

_I take it carefully from her, drawing it closely to my body as the signature feeling of pure evilness and darkness comes seeping towards me. Looking down I see the most beautiful diadem I've ever laid my eyes on, the large blue sapphire in its center gleaming with brilliance even after all these years buried in this forgotten forest. The etching on the surface speaking of wit as being the greatest of all things a glaringly vast opposition to the wretched soul inside it._  
  
 

_Surely it would kill Rowena all over again if she knew what had become of her most famous treasure._  
  
 

_"Can you believe it?" Harry grins, bending over my shoulder as I study the horcrux that's nearly smoking a consuming cloud of darkness around me, his warm breath against my ear a contrasting force that steadies me in the face of such evil._  
  
 

_ "Let’s kill it now." I say quietly, prying my eyes from the menacing object in my hands, the last one we need to destroy to bring this war to its conclusion.  _

__

_We think at least._  
  
 

_"I thought that maybe-"_  
  
 

_"Harry." I cut him off, standing quickly, my hands dropping the box in my vacated seat, the mug forgotten and seeping its hot liquid into the snow. I can't explain it, don't fully understand the frantic need to see it killed as quickly as possible, but it's there - a feeling deep in my guts and I know I need to heed it for whatever reason. "We need to...right now." I say quietly but sternly, letting him see into the darkness swirling in my thoughts like a siren warning._  
  
 

_He nods slowly, eyes locked on mine. "Okay."_  
  
 

_"Why now though?" Weasley pipes in and I glance at them with a sudden remembrance that they're there._  
  
 

_"I have a feeling. Like..."_  
  
 

_"He's coming." Harry finishes for me, bringing to memory the course his dreams have been taking lately, like Voldemort knows we're here. And somehow, someway, he's coming and soon._  
  
 

_Placing the diadem on the ground, we form our circle around it, each of us knowing exactly what to do just like the other times. I send Harry a small smile, brushing my hand lightly against his as Weasley and Granger start their task of overwhelming the piece of jewelry with love and kindness and happiness._  
  
 

_"Ready Potter?" I ask, taking my stance and watching the oval sapphire beginning to glow and shake._  
  
 

_"Always." He grins back, his arms holding his wand aloft and ready._  
  
 

_It's funny the change Harry's manifested inside me, reforming something deep in my heart that I hadn't even noticed until we were destroying Hufflepuff’s cup. It wasn't anything strikingly obvious it was just...harder. It took greater effort to flood myself with darkness and hatefully violent thoughts. It needed a little push that I didn't need to make when killing the soul in the locket. Like there was something chaining me back and making the thoughts come slower and doused in dew - something that wouldn't ignite like I was used to._  
  
 

_This time is ever more difficult._  
  
 

_I have to wipe the smile from my face and pry my eyes from Harry as the diadem starts screaming in a high pitched screech like a thousand women dying in flames. There's a shattering break that throws Weasley and Granger off their feet and back several feet and with a piercing laughter something dark and twisted and full of contagious malevolence bursts forth._  
  
 

_All the usual dark thoughts come to mind, fueling the power of my curses that I cast at the whirling soul seeking its next target. But it's not enough, like there's a tack in my heart, pinning this unaccustomed thing in front of everything else, clouding the hate and making it hard for me to tap into it. With a hissed curse, the soul snapping towards me with a predatory gleam I feel the pull on my mind instantly - like melting acid blanketing my thoughts and memories._  
  
 

_I scream from the pain of it, my mouth hanging open and throat growing soar and silent long before the screaming inside me subsides. With merging fury as the soul seeks it's way inside me, I pull to mind all the hell that Harry's been through, all the times he's almost been killed - all because of a fucking prophesy and a madman. I fling all the anger these thoughts create inside me into my magic, feeling it ping against the invading spirit like fiery darts that sear but at the same time only drive it onward - like it's fueling it's desire for conquest._  
  
 

_With a suffocating push, my vision goes black, the sense of falling rushing past my ears and playing vertigo through my equilibrium. There's a muffled low sung laugh that sounds all too familiar, the sound bringing back the days of living in the Manor with the Dark Lord - a heaviness filling my soul until I can no longer draw in air or hear any sound or feel anything against my suddenly numb skin that itches in the same instant like a contradiction intended to drive me mad._  
  
 

_Then the blackness is sprinkling with dots of silver light, spreading across a vision of a nameless man in tattered clothing and horror stuck eyes dying slowly and painfully over and over again as something crushing and thick fills every little space inside me - curling through my nostrils, prying through my veins, leaking through my pores with a sigh of relief that would send shivers down my spine if that wasn't being taken over as well._  
  
 

_With one last all-consuming pain, everything settles, creeping up the back of my skull and bringing a new set of thoughts and desires into my mind that spew poison and death._  
  
 

_"Draco!"_  
  
 

_My hearts thumps loudly as I inwardly scramble madly and silently away as it overtakes me._  
  
 

_"Draco! Damn it wake up!"_  
  
 

_I know the voice, like a thick syrup seeping and meeting the disease growing inside me._  
  
 

_"Oh my god...please, please...don't...DRACO!"_  
  
 

_It collides with the maniacal voice and the man dying over and over again but it's fading, growing lighter and less familiar..._  
  
 

_"You can't...you stubborn prat, wake the fuck up! Just...just please!"_  
  
 

_Just as I feel myself slip over an undefinable precipice, sinking in an inky void, there's a sudden warmth over my chest - a scent other than rotting flesh in my nose, a touch other than pain running the length of my back._  
  
 

_"...arry?" My throat works, the name scratching through like a rope that descends and wraps around me - tugging me up and into a graying light, the darkness like curling tendrils of smoke reaching up after me._  
  
 

_"Draco! Oh god you're okay, you're okay, okay..." I feel a pressure, fierce and possessive crush me into something solid and hot and real. "You fucking scared me." The solidness holding me shakes as they slowly form into a chest and arms and legs all around me, wild hair tickling my nose and fingers digging into my back._  
  
 

_Harry._  
  
 

_"...m'ine." I grumble, blinking my heavy eyes open and dragging in a desperately needed breath of air. Everything is swimming around me, my body pumped full of lead and aching in every single place, keeping me immobile in his embrace._  
  
 

_ "I thought...I thought..." There's tears on his cheeks and lashes, his heart pounding against my own shallow beat. I try to smile at him as another tear slips down his wet face and before I can try to formulate a reply he's pressing his mouth to mine in a desperate kiss that rattles with a soft cry from him.  _

__

_He holds me to him in a locked grip, the wet ground soaking my lower half as he kisses me almost violently in a sloppy affair that he can't seem to pull back from even to drag in a breath of air or answer the soft questions I can vaguely hear coming from his friends._  
  
 

_Unable to move a muscle, I sink in his arms, returning his kiss as much I can and trying desperately to ignore the thick tar of pure evil waiting inside me - smiling at me like I'm swinging on a thin line, its endless pit waiting to swallow me whole the moment I slip._  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
The cherry wood box is gleaming on the desk.  
  
 

A shifting blow of breath and a feather light touch across its smooth surface was all it took to restore its hidden beauty. And now it sits...waiting. But I can't seem to touch it again, my foot bouncing with the nerves running through my body, sending my entire leg jostling up and down, up and down...over and over and over again.  
  
 

Glancing at the clock, I see the hour hand tick its minute move onto the 12 and sigh. Time is running thin, a reality that seems to plague me all my days, from my youth as an obnoxious child to the days where the damn cabinet wouldn't work...to now. It's ticking away the minutes I have left and with every near silent click I hear Bella's crackle a little louder in my heart and see Safiya's twisted smile in my mind.  
  
 

It's a click of "it's time".  
  
 

A shift of disturbed air.  
  
 

A barely audible tap of curling fingers over all I hold dear.  
  
 

"Draco?"  
  
 

I turn with a reserved smile at the sound of Harry's sleepy croak, his messy head turned on the pillow with his naked body tangled in the bed sheets like he's been fighting with them the past hour. "Hey." I say softly, watching the blissful smile form on his tired face, his arms and legs stretching with cat like movements.  
  
 

"Did you sleep?" He asks, squishing the pillow up under his head and letting his gaze trail over my fully clothed form.  
  
 

"A little." I lie because as much as I tried, sleep had eluded me even after he passed out from sheer physical exhaustion, curled snuggly around me in the early morning hours. I had lain awake, holding him tightly and memorizing every little line in his face, every little bend in his cheek and curve of his forehead, enraptured myself in every little noise he made.  
  
 

"Mhmm." He hums a little, turning to move onto his back and wincing. "God I think you've killed me."  
  
 

"Obviously not, suppose that means I should try harder next time." I drawl with my patent smirk, loving the sight he makes on my bed, completely debauched and bearing little markings all over his flesh from our activities.  
  
 

He grins and reaches out an arm, hooking his finger in a sleepy wave to draw me next to him. "Suppose so."  
  
 

As much as I want to join him, to forget today in his arms, I know I have a schedule to keep - the tick tick tick of the clock a constant reminder of what lays just beyond my door. But there's also something I want answered, something that has been dancing around the back of my mind and I know once I show him what's inside the box that there won't be another chance.  
  
 

Rising slowly, I make my way over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling as he immediately rises up on his hands and cranes his neck - planting a light kiss on my lips with his own that still looks slightly bruised from last night. When he pulls back it's with a small frown, his tired eyes squinting through his shoddy vision.

"What's wrong?"  
  
 

"Nothing." I reply, soothing a lock of his hair off his forehead.  
  
 

"Right...because I totally believe you." He mutters sarcastically, sitting up fully and scooting closer. "So let's try that again. What's wrong really?"  
  
 

Casting a critical eye over him, I debate with leaving it alone, with keeping the question just where it is, untouched and never answered. But then I know myself. I know that as the days pass, with whatever they may bring, I'll keep thinking on it - imagining progressively worse outcomes as time winds on. Placing one last chaste kiss on his lips, I summon my courage and press on. "I've been wondering...about Blaise?"  
  
 

His frown morphs into a drawn, tired curve of his lips, his heavy eyes blinking silently for a beat. "Thought you might ask about that." He pauses and glances away, out the sliver of open curtain obstructing the window. “He was released about…two years after me.” He explains quietly before falling silent once more, his throat working as his fingers twist through his hair.  

I recognize the pull on his face, the lines of worry and calm detachment, his words laying on his tongue with a thickness that’s hard for him to swallow or speak around. And oddly I get it. I understand the way he’s staring out the window with a fight for something as simple as resignation at spilling his story.

I understand it because I've felt the same way. I don’t know if I’d be able to go into detail about these last several years away from him. If I could open my mouth and recount all the horrible days of spiraling fear and depression. If I could watch his face as I traced the paths I have fallen in and out of before finding my salvation. 

I remember the look on his face that first day he realized the depth of my issues, remember how his eyes were on a constant lookout for my patter seeking behavior. Could I immerse myself back in the past enough to tell him how bad it used it to be? Could I recount the days of grappling for sanity while I felt like I was spilling out of my skin with multiple nervous break downs?

“Harry…you don’t have to.” I hear myself saying, his green eyes shifting to mine with a dazed sort of look.

“No it’s okay.” He answers tightly. “It’s just hard for some reason.”

“He’s not…?” I trail off, fear suddenly gripping me at the thought of why he might be so reluctant to tell me.

“No, he’s alive.” He rushes to reassure me and then with a frustrated huff, springs up onto his knees - reaching over and grabbing his journal off the nightstand. “He didn’t have any friends left…I don’t know if it was because of the trials or because of the damage to his mental stability due to the after effects of the curses he suffered but…he couldn’t stand staying in London.”

I watch as Harry cracks his worn book open, flipping through the delicate pages with a practiced touch. “He left then?” I ask, watching a picture of me and Harry beside a lake appear for a moment before snapping out of existence behind another turn of pages.

He nods as he continues thumbing through his notebook, looking for something unknown that is making my heart thrum in my chest with a strange sort of apprehension. “He found me. I was in Brazil when he just showed up at my hotel room door late one night. He said he wanted to help…” he pauses in his story and in his searching with a fond little smile. “I don’t even know how he knew but he did. Said that if anyone could find that ‘blasted sneaky prat’ that it would be him.”

“I take it that I’m the blasted sneaky prat then?”

He turns his grin on me, licking his lips, and capturing my mouth in a kiss that catches me off guard. “That you are.” He mutters, tossing his journal down and moving to straddle my lap with his hands framing my face. “He never could understand how the hell we had gotten together or why I couldn’t let you go.”

I chuckle and wrap my arms around his waist, his heat like a settling wave around me. “How nice of him.” I scoff, meeting his tongue as his mouth moves over mine once more with a little laugh rumbling through him at the same moment. “You’re getting sidetracked Harry.” I mutter as he shifts his hips, plastering himself against me.

“Mhmm true.” He sighs and sits back a little, though not much, his arms still fastened around my neck. “Where was I?”

“Brazil.”

“Right.” He nods, that far off glaze shielding his bright eyes once more like a film of ancient time. “He was actually quite helpful most the time but he had a penchant for…sub-coming to his illness. He couldn't stand anything touching his bare skin, not even a breeze and...he had these bouts of delusion and violence.”

“Did he hurt you?” I ask with a tightness in my gut, the thought of my former best friend turning his skewed rage on Harry making a dread ring through me.

He shakes his head before leaning down to rest it in on my shoulder. “No, himself mostly, it was an uphill battle I don't think he's ever gotten over. He traveled with me for over a year before… he couldn’t anymore.”

“How do you mean?” I mutter, running my hand down his chilled exposed back, his posture very much like a frightened child’s in a way that’s completely unsettling for me.

“He gave up on you.” He answers quietly. “Then he started getting mad that I wouldn’t as well. Said that I needed to forget about it because you were as good as dead.” His arms tighten around me as he speaks lowly, like the words are reluctant to be spoken and heard. “I told him off, called him mental and deranged and all the other things I could think of that I knew would hit him hard.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well…I wasn’t in the best frame of mind either then.” He answers so very softly before pulling back to look right at me. “I regretted it immediately but he was gone…disappeared for a few weeks before showing back up looking like he’d been dragged through the sewer. He apologized, even broke down and cried…I’ve…I’d never seen him like that. He begged me to let him stay, said he had no one else and nowhere else to go. That’s when he showed it to me.”

“Showed you what?” I ask thickly, the weary, cautious look in his eye sitting heavily in me.

“It was a newspaper clipping with a picture of you…you were shielding your face but it was you, clear as day to me. I remember it was the first time my hands stopped shaking all on their own, like I was afraid if I moved a fraction of an inch that the first link I had to you in years would melt away. It was an article about some women getting beaten in an alley…and you saved her.” Still holding fast to me with one arm, he leans over and begins flipping through his book again before he straightens back up with it in his hands. “See?”

I frown as I look down, the yellowed ripped clipping plastered to the page showing just a obscured portion of my face but there it was, frozen in a graphic instant…for all the world to see, the words ‘a nameless hero saves Natalee Shoemen…’ typed neatly beneath it. What it doesn’t say is that I was in a blind rage when I did it or that the man who attacked her ended up breathing his last with a swiftly placed kick to his windpipe. It doesn't mention how I had sat huddled against the side of the brick building, running my fingers up and down its surface until they bleed afterwards.

I don’t even know I managed it, the fact that the man was slobbering drunk probably having something to do with it.

I remember that night so clearly now. I remember the heat, the fire in my blood that had run frigid and afraid for too long. That was the night I felt a spark of life enter me again, the night everything changed for me.

“Why did he keep it from you?” I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away from my own mangled face staring back up at me.

“Blaise…he needed me in his own little way and I think he thought that if I found you that I’d…”

"Leave him?”

Harry nods slowly, sadly. “Yeah.”

Watching the moister gather in his eyes, I force the one question I desperately need answered out in a near silent rush. “Were you two together then?”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” He answers, looking far off into the distance. “I think he wanted us to be but I never…I never saw him like that. I don't know...sometimes I think that maybe I used him. He knew you, you know, like no one else. He had all these stories of you growing up that he'd sometimes share if I could manage to coax them out of him. He used to make these little remarks though…he’d bounce back and forth between wanting to find you just as bad as I did to practically seething in anger about the idiocy of even looking. In the end he couldn’t do it anymore, asked me to give up and stay with him in this little town in Nepal…I couldn't, so when the time came to move on he stayed behind. He’s still there I believe. Before he left though he gave me this.” He flips forward several more pages before stopping and pulling from the sheets a perfectly straight, wrinkle free, sealed envelope with my name scrawled neatly across the white surface with curling black letters. “Said he hoped that I’d find you and that if I ever did, that I was give this to you.”

“What is it?” I ask, staring at the letter and the familiar handwriting but not moving an inch to claim it.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know, haven’t opened it. I know I should have given it to you sooner but…well things got off to a rocky start didn’t they?” He explains with a shy smile.

"Mhmm, that's putting it lightly." I reply, reaching out and tentatively taking it from his loose grasp. "Thank you...for telling me."

"Do you miss him?" He cocks his head, watching as I lay the letter neatly down beside me without making any sort of attempt at opening it. I don't think I can right now, god knows I don't need yet another distraction or more guilt on my conscious. Thankfully he doesn't ask why I set it aside, letting the curiously live only in his gaze.

"Sometimes. I've tried not to think about anyone from…back then. Do you?"

Pushing his fingers that hold the smallest of tremors through my hair he smiles softly. "At times. He was a good friend when I had none but I worry about him more than anything."

"Don't tell Granger and Weasley that, I think she'd bludgeon you for discounting them." I say with a smile, trying to detach my thoughts from picturing Blaise living an isolated existence in some mountain village, wishing Harry had stayed behind with him. Funny how similar our lives turned out.

"Not discounting." He interjects. "They just...couldn't go through it with me, if that makes since."

I nod, understanding completely and with a glance over to the desk, feel the weight of everything twist into an untangle-able knot inside me - perhaps it would have been best if he had given up, if he was living amongst all those colorful prayer flags, fighting off the biting winters and basking in the heated summers with my former best mate by his side.

But he's not, he's here, in my arms again, and there's no use playing with alternate realities.

 

"We should get up."

"Why?" He pouts. "We don't have anywhere we need to be."  
  
 

"True but I have something to show you." I inform him as I displace him from my lap and move from the bed, pulling the wardrobe open and snagging a pair of sleep pants to cover his naked body with - tossing them at him with a chuckle as he catches them with a scowl, my body dropping with languid ease back into the desk chair.

But I can tell I've already quipped his interest and with only one more grumble and a pronounced wince as he slides from the bed and slips them and his glasses on, he pads over to me with a hand raking through his mangled locks. "What is it?" He asks, eyeing the box curiously as he sits on the edge of the desk.  
  
 

With a slow intake of air, I reach out and flip the lid up, letting the breath rush out the next second as the contents are revealed to him - a sudden nervousness making my leg take up its bouncing again. I watch him as he stares down into it, his eyes sparking with interest as he reaches out and trails his finger through the items inside.  
  
 

"This is all I have of my past." I tell him, my gaze glued to his face as he nibbles on the corner of his lip, a look of deep fascination and question marking his features. It seems fitting, showing this to him now, after he told me a little about his time traveling.  
  
 

"I wondered...if you kept it." He says quietly and I glance down to see his fingers hovering over my wand.

I almost didn't.

I almost chuckled the lot of them, not wanting any reminders of who I was and in the end it was more like a painful burden than anything as I carried them around the world with me but...  
  
 

"I didn't want to take anything with me when I left but these things...I found I couldn't part with." I elaborate and he nods, a slow smile pulling at his lips as he chuckles lowly once. "What?"  
 

He shakes his head and looks up at me, pulling something from the box with nimble fingers. "Couldn't part with my tie?" He arches a thick black eyebrow, his old school tie of crimson and gold unwinding in his fingers and falling in a long roll over his legs.  
  
 

"My tie you mean." I retort, fighting the blush that's threatening to rise. I really should have taken that out before showing him this.  
  
 

He looks at me from over the rim of his glasses with an exasperated and yet highly amused expression. "Really? Could have sworn yours was green and silver..."  
  
 

"Well since it spent months tying me down to a table it changed loyalties."  
  
 

He eyes the worn piece of fabric in his hands and grins salaciously. "Best use it to strap you to the chair then, pay you back for last night."  
  
 

"Mind out of the gutter Potter." I grumble, annoyed that I let him see it, that he's holding the proof of my inability to let go of him all these years in his hands.  
  
 

Looping the length around the back of my neck, he tugs on the ends and leans down to meet me for a brief but sweet kiss. "Yeah, yeah...though I am curious as to how you got a hold of it?"  
  
 

Grazing the obnoxiously loud colored accessory with my knuckles, I shrug lightly. "The hospital had a little bin of my stuff...I think Granger dropped it all off. Never been able to figure out why she included it with everything though."  
  
 

"She's a mysterious one."  He snickers, toying with his old tie, the slide of the fabric on my sensitive skin making the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end.  
  
 

"And as...lovely...as your old school uniform is, that wasn't really what I had in mind to show you." I glance back down to the box and away from him, loving too much the way his hair looks after a long night of shagging - like it's just screaming what he's been up to for all the world to hear.  
  
 

"Oh? You going to elaborate then or do I have to guess?" He asks, following my gaze back to the box as he leans towards it, peering once more inside it with a little smile. "Wait, is that...?" He trails off, squinting his eyes and craning his neck closer before jerking back and frowning deeply at me. "Draco...why do you have those?"

I know what he's referring to without even looking and I feel myself shift uneasily in my chair under his scrutiny, shrugging in my inability to articulate an answer. Because I don't really know why I kept them, I don't know why I seem to have this deep need to pick at my scabs to make sure they never heal properly...that's the only explanation as to why those nasty screws are resting amongst my other belongings. 

But then again, that's a lie isn't it? I know exactly why I can't let them heal.

"Still not it." I try for a smile and a light tone that only begrudgingly removes the argument from his lips - as he can plainly see there's no use prying into it. "Guess again?"

"Alright." Harry grumbles, letting his gaze linger on the dirty torture instruments for a moment longer before he's shifting through the box again. "Mhmm you wanted to show me...this vial?" He guesses, holding up a sleek glass vial with a swirling gray smoke inside.

"No."

"This...what is this?" He holds up a necklace with a thick amulet dangling on the heavy chain - a gift from Snape when he was fearing for my life.

"Try again."

He drops it back into the box before plucking out a photo with its edges stuck together - hiding its subjects away. "This?"

"Getting colder."

"Gah, just tell me." He says exasperated, glaring into the box like every little thing is mocking him with his inability to guess correctly.

"Never knew you to be a quitter." I tease before letting my hand fall into the box beside his, the ancient pulse of my family’s bloodline reaching back out to me as my fingers brush over and curl around the small cool object - the touch of magic curling out and around me, pumping through my blood with a zing of energy.

Running the slim ring up the length of my thumb, I hold it aloft, trapped between my thumb and middle fingers, gleaming in the soft light and catching Harry's breath as his eyes lock on it - his intense gaze tracing over the engraving of the Malfoy crest upon its surface. "I wanted to show you this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter and I even cut some! Goodness me ;) I love Draco and Hermione, I think they’d just be the best of friends (Once they got over their prejudice that is)


	20. The Obstruction of Smoke

  
  
 

The ring is perfectly round. No indentation marring any of its curves from all the fingers it's rested upon previously, no nicks or scratches deflecting from the innate beauty surrounding it. The Malfoy crest is emblazoned across its surface like a beacon, small and yet standing out completely, catching your eye the moment it's presented in front of you.

It used to adorn my finger day and night, since the moment my father bestowed it upon me. I remember the way it had slipped past the first than second knuckle to rest with a pressing, tingling weight before fitting snugly around my still small finger. It grew with me, like my father said it would, always fitting just right. I used to be so proud of it, a smug reminder to all my housemates just who I was and who they weren't - a well-timed fixing of my collar or brush of my hair, enough to remind any who sought to oppose me.  

Amycus didn't remove it even when he stripped away everything else from me. Neither did Bellatrix. I'm not sure why, perhaps it was just another mockery, another knife to plunge deep in my heart - reminding me while I still had my sanity that not even my ancestors could save me.

 

It was the first thing I tore off when I had strength enough to lift my hand in the hospital. It had fallen from my grasp with a fuming anger, clanking against the sterile floor and rolling under the bed I couldn't move from.

I don't know why I crouched then slid under the standard hospital bed on my stomach to retrieve it before fleeing. I don't know why I had stared at it for a good long while, adorned in the loose white cotton shirt and trousers - the mark of patients from Healers - before a small noise in the hall made me jump back to myself. I had slipped it in the bag with the rest of my effects, ignoring the contrasting pull to burn it to ash and wear it once more.

It’s lived in the box ever since.

I'm not looking at the ring between my fingers now though. I'm watching Harry. 

 

He's frozen stiff, eyes widened and rounded behind his spectacles. I know he recognizes it, he used to play with it, twirling it around my finger as he laid against my chest. He told me once that he used to hate it, that is seemed so pompous and arrogant of me to flaunt it around, just like I flaunted my name - the two things interconnected. But just like I grew on him, so apparently did my ring. I think he liked it because it reminded him of me boiled down into a single object - something that was elegant and smooth and cold to the touch, something that only grew warm with repeated handling, something that only sparkled in just the right light and only if held in just the right way. He liked to find that spot, holding my hand up against the sun lit trees and angling it against the filtered rays till it shone its hidden brilliance.

He lets out a shuttering breath as his gaze flicks back to me for a second before he reaches out and touches the cool silver with a finger that's trembling in a twitching tap against the old family heirloom. "Why?" He asks quietly and I can almost see his brain back peddling to last night when I bound our hands together.

"It's been in my family for centuries, traveling down from generation to generation." I explain, watching as he stares at it with an enraptured focus. "Do you know anything about the magic surrounding the Pureblood lines?" I ask and he shakes his head. "It's complicated but in part we have these heirlooms that hold powerful protective magic in them. Like this ring. If I or any other Malfoy were to wear it, the protection woven inside it would merge with the wearer’s very essence. It creates a shield of sorts. It also can be transferred to another, linking them together in a sense..." I continue, taking his hand and slipping it on his finger as he bites into his lip.

When the silver settles around the base of his ring finger, I touch it lightly, letting the dusty near forgotten words well in my spirit and come spilling lightly from my lips - the ancient power sizzling in my blood and rushing outwards in a tingling, nauseating flow. It glows softly as Harry sucks in a sharp breath through his nose before returning to its usual dim shine - adjusting perfectly to the width of his finger.

"What did you do?" He traps the ring between his fingers, squeezing them tightly together like he can't quite think fast enough to follow where I'm going.

"I transferred its power to you." I explain as he twists the band around his finger, so much liked he used to do when it stilled graced my hand.

"But what does that mean?" His voice is still unnaturally quiet but with a slight edge of desperation to understand underlining it.

"It means that as long as you wear it, that the magic surrounding the Malfoy bloodline will protect you."

"Transferred..." He repeats, gazing at me with wide eyes. "Does that mean it's not over you anymore?"

"In a sense but Harry, I've long ago denounced its hold on me. It has a purpose again now and it's still connected to me, just loosely."  

"But...how did you do it?" He demands, flexing his fingers over and over like he's trying to get used to the heaviness of the slim object and the weight of the power it holds.

It's my turn to bite the inside of my cheek as I look away from his questioning gaze, a flush rising up my neck. "I...named you as my heart."

"What?"

"My heart." I repeat, taking his hand in mine and studying the way the band looks against his tanned skin. A perfect contrast. "It's an old tradition." I explain with as little detail as I can.

"Okay." He says slowly, tugging a hand through his hair. "I don't get it...try explaining in simpler, he-didn't-grow-up-as-a-wizard terminology."

"There's not much to explain." I sigh, which isn't exactly true but I'm not willing to go completely into it all with him. Maybe if I make it back, maybe if everything turns out good for once, maybe then... "I want you safe Harry, you are all that matters to me anymore, and you are in essence my heart. I just made it official and in return bestowed a level of protection over you that I couldn't have otherwise."

"Official? Did you just...?" He squeaks in a voice that sounds startled and supremely giddy at the same time. "Does this have to do with last night?"

I chuckle and lean forward to kiss him lightly, his lips seeking mine back out as I move to pull away, his arms locking around me as he plunders my mouth with a little moan. "You didn't just marry me without me knowing did you?" He asks after breaking away several long moments later, gasping in lungful’s of air as I come back down from the dizzy cloud he sent me in to find myself suddenly standing between his legs.

"Of course not, I'm not that underhanded." I mutter, conveniently leaving out the fact that all these things - the handfasting, the naming him as my heart, and giving him my families ring - are all elements in a Pureblood marriage ceremony. But I haven't connected them as they need to be in order to be binding. They are just symbolic, just for me to shore up in my heart to give me strength - to fight the evil I feel growing and expanding inside and around me with each passing moment - ever since seeing Bella in the Market.

He smiles at me with suspicious eyes. "You sure?" I can hear the teasing lit in his voice as he hooks his ankles around the back of my knees. "Because you seem to be doing a lot of strange and weirdly romantic things lately."

"I think last night could be described as more kinky than romantic." I supply, running my hands down his back and glancing briefly at the clock - times almost up.

He contemplates it with an exaggerated air for a moment before shrugging. "I think a little of both."

"I'll concede on that." I smile, kissing a line along his cheek and over to his ear. "I have to go soon."

"Where." I can hear his frown as he gasps, tilting his head back.

"I have to meet with Donnie." I tell him, feeling like utter rubbish as I do, the lie making my stomach twist painfully. But there's no way he'll let me go otherwise and I need to do this. Need to end this on my terms with no one else around to pay my price for me. "But you'll wear the ring right?" I ask, wanting to make sure that he'll have an extra layer of protection in case something happens.

Protection against Safiya if she tries anything.

Protection from Bellatrix if she comes hunting for him.

But most importantly, protection from me, if either of them manage to snip the fragile line keeping me aloft from the darkness inside - because I feeling it pressing, clawing for freedom. More so than I have in years.

"Oh I get a choice now?" He chuckles, humming as I nibble on his ear.

"Of course you do but I hope you will." I cradle his face in my hands, watching his thoughts fight their way through his gaze.

He sighs and places the hand with my ring trapped on his finger over my own, leaning into my touch. "You're hiding something from me."

"Yes." I answer simply, letting my forehead drop to his.

"But there's no use trying to stop you is there?" He runs his thumb over my cheek and I nod. 

 

"You don't have to do this alone."

"I do." I retort.

"You'll come back?"

The kiss I place on his lips has him choking a bit on his own air leaving his lungs, like he's fighting with himself over something. "I'll come back." I whisper.

  
  
****  
  


Granger isn't smiling but she's not frowning exactly either, her lips a thin almost puckered line like she's sucked on one to many lemons. Her arms are crossed over her small chest, drawing in a breath like there's an unpleasant aroma wafting nearby, her fingers tapping against her elbow.  


"Where's Harry then?" She asks after a tense moment, our feet still separated by the threshold of her hotel room.  
  
 

"My flat." I answer, pressing my hand against the outside of my trousers pocket, the outline of Harry's magic infused coin fitting into my palm. He had slipped it into my pocket as I had bade him goodbye, the look in his eye holding so much more than what his mouth spoke.   
  
 

It's the same coin he gave me that first day he was back - the first time I had gone to Madame Safiya.  
  
 

And he knows I'm not meeting Donnie, he knows I'm walking into foully, but he let me go - that in itself makes my heart swell to near bursting. Because Harry never lets loose the things he holds dear, he's too terrified to, which means...he gets it. If only a fraction but that little sliver is enough, enough for him to understand my need to see this through.  
  
 

That's not to say that he won't come barging in if I don't return. God knows he won't sit still for long. But his gift is time, showing his own love in this little measure of stepping where I may.  
  
 

"I take it he doesn't know your here?" She lets her gaze slip over and around me, almost like she's expecting to see her black haired friend come running down the deserted hall.  
  
 

"No, he doesn't."  
  
 

She nods and sighs, motioning me inside after her with a fixed air of resignation. "Better come in." She calls over her shoulder as I follow her, the sparse yet clean hotel room barely registering in my peripheral vision. "You're here for the diagnosis?" Her intellectual glazed eyes glance briefly over to the shut bathroom door, the sound of running water muffling the otherwise silent expanse around us.  
  
 

I nod, my fingers fiddling with the curve of the coin, a piece of him I can take with me - just as I left a piece of myself behind with him. "Have you found anything?"  
  
 

Granger hesitates, my heart catching at the near invisible shift of muscles in her shoulders, in the way her head twitches just slightly to the left. "Possibly." She answers, walking over to the oval nightstand by the large bed that looks as stiff as a timber of wood.  
  
 

"Elaborate." I grit out, trying to scrub away the storm of terrible outcomes trying to flood my thoughts. There's no use overreacting until all the facts are in...none...none...none - that lone word repeating on an endless loop for a small eternity while I wait for her lips to part and either reassure me or shatter my world.  
  
 

She holds up a finger in an order of patience as she bends to scoop up a thin stack of neatly lined papers. "There were some anomalies that he didn't have prior but...they’re not conducive to anything I've witnessed before. I sent the tests back to the Ministry and their looking into it in more detail but it looks like there may be something...the only issue is it's not something we've seen before or if we have it's been so long since the last reported case that it's buried in a sea of poorly organized data."  
  
 

My jaw clenches as my fingers curl around his coin. "So you know nothing."  
  
 

Granger clucks her tongue and shakes her head, staring down at the papers in her hand. "It's complicated."  
  
 

"Isn't it always?" I ask, pressing my middle finger against the bridge of my nose, battling the headache forming.  
  
 

"Do you get them often?" She queries suddenly, my eyes snapping back open at the softly voiced question.  
  
 

"Get what often?"  
  
 

"Headaches. I've noticed these past few days...you seem to get them a lot." She's studying me like I'm an exam placed before her, seeking the right questions before putting pen to paper and scribbling her answer in permanent ink. "It doesn't seem to just be stress." She continues, her tone studious, her step bringing her one inch closer. "Is it behind the eyes? Or further back? Ever see spots?"  
  
 

I blink, my hand dropping to my side with a scowl on my face. "What are you going on about?"  
  
 

"Your headaches obviously." She mutters, tucking a thick strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
 

"We're not talking about me Granger." I remind her, feeling the pulse of a hammer behind my right eye.  
  
 

"Harry's noticed them too you know...he's concerned." She presses on, ignoring my refusal to answer and the glare I'm fixing on her.  
  
 

"Harry's always concerned." I mutter, pushing a hand through my hair and trying my best to ignore my throbbing head. Honestly I don't get them that often...do I? And really, so what if I do? Headaches are the least of my concern, no doubt the pain just stemming from all the turmoil and stress despite what she seems to think.  
  
 

"Draco-"  
  
 

I flick an annoyed look her way, waving my hand in dismissal and a plea for silence. "Look I was wondering if you could do something for me?"  
  
 

She purses her lips with a strong distaste for letting the subject drop but nods anyway. "Perhaps. What do you need?"  
  
 

"The Malfoy vaults, are they still under my name or has the Ministry removed them?" I ask, watching the surprise and curiosity pull her eyebrows up, rounding her eyes even wider.  
  
 

"I assume there still yours, as heir you'd have to pass before anyone else could touch them." She answers slowly. "Why?"  
  
 

"They weren't confiscated after the war?"  
  
 

She lets out a little laugh, shaking her head. "They wouldn't dare."  
  
 

"I doubt that, surely they demanded recompense for all our sins?" I reply snidely, not liking her laugh or the amusement battling the puzzlement in her gaze.  
  
 

"Oh they did from a lot of families but not from you." She smiles, dropping the forgotten papers on the bed, my gaze glancing briefly at them - frustrated beyond measure that they hold no real answer. "Not after awarding you with the Order of Merlin."  
  
 

"They...what?" I look back up at her, near positive that I've heard her wrong, because who in their right mind would bestow such a reward on a Malfoy of all people?  
  
 

"The Order of Merlin." She repeats, eyeing me carefully. "We all got one."  
  
 

"Why the hell would they do that?" I snap, unsure why this is bothering me so much, the idea pressing against my headache in a little mockery. How ridiculously absurd.  
  
 

She shrugs. "You did help us a lot Malfoy, you deserve it as much as we did...but even still I think it was mostly to appease Harry."  
  
 

"Appease Harry?" I repeat, arching an eyebrow, not understanding how such a thing would satisfy him if he was upset about something. The man has been notoriously opposed to the public eye and useless awards for as long as I can remember - even when he was a little boy.  
  
 

She cocks a hip and flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Well, you were missing weren't you? He created quite the stink trying to get people to track you down when no one believed there was any point in it. The Ministry probably thought it might help him clam down a little when their pathetic excuse for a search turned up empty."  
  
 

"And did it?" I ask sarcastically, already knowing the answer.  
  
 

"Of course not." She says with a little smile. "You know Harry..."  
  
 

I nod. "Indeed. So then all my accounts should still be full and in order?" I ask, trying not to think about what he went through looking for me that first time, because that thought can only lead to one place...a place I don't like going.  
  
 

"Like I said, I would assume so. Why, suddenly wanting the Manor life again?"  
  
 

"God no." I mutter, pulling a quickly written but carefully worded letter and a thick bronze key from my pocket and holding them out to her, her hand bouncing down under the unexpected weight as I drop them in her open palm. "I need you to make a withdrawal for me and then transfer it into euros."  
  
 

She stares down at the objects I've just relinquished to her with a perplexed air. "Why?"  
  
 

"I had a debt to mad woman." I explain. "I'm beginning to doubt my winning last night will be enough to appease her, especially now that she's got a taste of my blood in a sense."  
  
 

"So you're going to drain your accounts to pay her off?" She states carefully, trying to understand my logic completely before accepting my need of her help.  
  
 

"I doubt I'll need to drain them but if it comes to it then yes, I will."  
  
 

"But...why"  
  
 

"I've lived this long without them Granger, I don't need the money." I reply, my hand sliding into my pocket to wrap around the coin fully.

It's true, I don't need the money and if I can use it to safely and painlessly pry myself away from this mess than I won't regret ever using it as such. It would be far better to be free of her grasp, to know that Donnie and Caleb won't pay any price for my own misdeeds than to live in riches again.  
  
 

And really, if for some miracle she lets me go without demanding anything else, I doubt I'll ever touch the vaults again anyway.  
  
 

"But surely there's an easier way." She staring at me like she can't believe her ears, like the very notion of me offering up my inheritance is utterly absurd, like I've lost my mental stability and am making rash decisions that I'll one day hate myself for - her gaze so utterly unbelieving that all I can do in the face of it is shrug. "Alright...so after you level your debt in her eyes, what are you going to do? Are you and Harry coming home?"  
  
 

Ah, that's the question isn't it? The one that we keep avoiding even in our time of isolation. "I don't know." I answer honestly.  
  
 

"But you won't stay will you?"  
  
 

"Time will tell Granger." I drawl, glancing down and grasping the coin tight. I don't rightly know where I'll end up because at the moment my only hope is that I'll end up with Harry. Even with all the wrongs and signs pointing to the opposite, that is all I desperately want to happen. And perhaps if it does, than maybe I could return to England, maybe having Harry by my side will make it bearable.  
  
 

Or maybe it will only drive me mad and pull out the thick tar of evil inside that threatens my very existence.  
  
 

She stares silently at me for a long moment before nodding in acceptance. "How do we go about this then?"  
  
 

I let out a breath of relief and send her a quick, tight smile. "Just start the process, I'll contact you with the amount once it's settled."   
  
 

She clutches the letter and key to her chest, a debate forming on the tip of her tongue before she's swallowing it with a quick shake of her head. "You're going to her now?" I nod and she lets her eyes slip shut for just a blink longer than normal. "And Harry doesn't know?"  
  
 

"I would appreciate it if it stayed that way."  
  
 

"One of these days, you two are going to have to face up to your issues." She says softly, hinting at the fact that she knows there's more beneath the surface of my skin than I'm showing - the notion terrifying.  
  
 

It's easier to pretend I'm okay when the damage is hidden away.

  
  
****  
  
  


  
She keeps me waiting.  
  
 

There's a dampness in the air all around me, like a thick mildew, heavy on the tongue and tactile through the nostrils. It reminds me of a potions lab on a hot day, when you've been toiling for long hours and days to get it just right, the sweat on your forehead a kind of reward as you glance into the cauldron and see the fruits of your labor.  
  
 

But this isn't a potions lab in the heart of Hogwarts with Professor Snape calmly calculating beside me and the air is all wrong - like a bad omen.  
  
 

"She'll see you now."  
  
 

My knees feel like creaking as I stand stiffly, eagerly vacating the plush seat and following the back of her nameless employee. I count the steps it takes to make it up the winding staircase, measure my strides down the long, thin hall. I breathe in the air that feels like an invading pathogen and breathe out with an external push all around me - a practiced skill that settles the thrumming in my veins.

This will all be over soon and unlike this hall there isn't only a single door at the crest, there's multiples - all identical in size and color and promise but only one with the future I desire.  
  
 

The end of the walkway brings a pause as a tall, trim bodyguard steps up to me, running a long, round metal detector over my body with a firmly set scowl. It blinks its green light and he grunts, disappointment on his face. What did he expect? That I'd come packing and try to gun her down?  
  
 

Honestly.

  
  
When the door swings open, I have to blink through the sudden haze, the air even denser inside the smaller room. It smells of rose petals and liquorish, a near translucent smoke curling through the nearly empty space, dancing towards the ceiling and pooling in the corners. The warm air settles around me like a coarse wool blanket, it's fibers a stabbing presences.  
  
 

"Isn't this a surprise. A bit early for the party, aren't we darling?" Madame Safiya speaks through the haze and my gaze shifts and focuses on her. She's sitting on a low ivory couch, the table before her holding a large smoldering bowl - the crystals and mix of spices inside glowing and fuming. There's a long stick in her hand, the end of it resting in the red glass bowl, the tip moving through the burning mixture with a slow twist of her wrist. It sputters and sparks, a waft of smoke and scent driving into the air.  
  
 

She looks different. There's no makeup accenting her striking features, somehow the lack of black coal lining her eyes making the unnatural blue stand out too vividly. Her long curling raven hair is pulled into a high ponytail at the back of her head, tight against her scalp. But most shocking of all is her dress - normally sultry but tasteful and always classy - she's wearing little more than a negligee. The fabric is nearly sheer, shimmering red layers draped over each other, pulled and tied tight at her waist with a thick black, velvet ribbon. The neck droops low, scooping over the swell of her breasts, a small thick silver chain dangling around her collar and dipping beneath the fabric that seems to move like water around her. The dress tappers off at her thighs, a pair of black boots that run over her knees exposing just a few inches of creamy white skin.  
  
 

"I won't be attending." I reply, doing my best to keep my wits about me as the thick air pries at my focus and seeps through me with a sluggishness that sparks an alarm in the back of my brain. "I'm here to pay my respects."  
  
 

She leans the stirring stick against the edge of the glass and drops it from her fingers with a tilt of her head. "Your respects? Come now dear, that sounds like a farewell."  
  
 

"It is."  
  
 

"Ah, I see." Safiya crosses her long legs and places her hands in her lap. "Love conquers all, is that it?"  
  
 

The smoke pricks at my senses and I blink rapidly, shoving a hand in my pocket as casually as I can. "A bit dramatic, more like I'm tired of playing."  
  
 

"Drama is the flare of life Mr. Evans, without it we wither and die."  
  
 

"I think I'll survive."  
  
 

She smiles icily. "So you wish to part ways then?" I nod and she curls a finger through the flow of her hair. "And what makes you think I'm inclined to agree?"  
  
 

This is it, the moment of truth - the moment I find out if she's going to hold to our bargain or try and keep me twined around her finger for as long as she finds me useful and entertaining. "We had a deal. I met your requirements and now I'm through."  
  
 

"So taciturn." She fakes a shiver, her bare shoulders twitching in the low light, the perfumed cloud casting an eerie glow to the little action. "Tell me darling, just what do you plan on doing with yourself then, you don't honestly believe you'll be able to quit the fight do you?"  
  
 

"Sometimes it's best to walk away." I answer carefully.  
  
 

"Is it? And where will you be walking to then?" She leans forward with interest in her eyes, her exhale almost tangible in the dense room.  
  
 

"Away." I don't rise to her bait, trying to let her see my confidence in my decision.  
  
 

"I remember a man who convinced me with few but elegant words that this world was his blood. What happened to him?" She contemplates me, challenging me with flinging my own words back at me.  
  
 

There's a quaking down my spine that sinks my feet in the floor, the air starting to choke me on every little inhale. "Doesn't matter. I won, you got your money, my debt is paid." I answer stiffly because it's true. It doesn't matter, not right now. Yes the ring gives me hope, it steadies me, and lights my blood with vigor, but...somethings are worth changing for.  
  
 

"Now see that's the point where we disagree." She picks the stick back up, thrusting it into the smoldering mess, sending a shower of sparks and such a wave of densely scented smoke into the air that it nearly knocks me off my feet - my hand reaching out automatically to grasp the back of the nearest chair to keep me steady as I feel the ground shift beneath me. "You dear, are like a speck of gold. I found you amidst the rubble, exposed the precious vein and shined it to life. The thing about gold is once some is found there's bound to be more and like any good miner, I won't rest until the cave has been pillaged, stripped down until there's nothing left to harvest."  
  
 

I narrow my eyes and catch myself breathing deeply before I can stop myself, desperate for clean air but only filling my lungs more full of the smoke that's turning putrid inside me. "Money speaks then?" I ask, trying not wobble, my knuckles paling and turning to white ice on the back of the chair - shadows shifting on the back wall with a snap and twist and bend.  
  
 

"Doesn't it always." She grins with a well-placed shrug.  
  
 

"Then what's the price?"  
  
 

"One you can't hope to pay." She brushes a finger over her brow and only then do I realize that I'm sweating, a thick sheen on my skin, running and spreading with each passing moment. The heats pooling in the base of my skull and flowing outward, the drum in my head picking up its tempo and sparking behind my eyes.  
  
 

Something's off, something is terribly, terribly off.  
  
 

"Try me."  
  
 

"All of it" She rises to her feet, the straightening of her legs and spine like a skipping film with frames missing, one minute she's sitting, the next she's two steps closer.  
  
 

"A-all o' wha?" I ask, shaking my head with a quick jerk as my words come out with a small but pronounced slur that has her smiling again.  
  
 

"I find it intriguing. Your name that is, Mr. Evans." She says suddenly, emphasizing my name sharply while tapping the stick against the bowl that sends up another wave of sickeningly sweet perfume and smoke.  
  
 

"Why's s'hat?" I ask, feeling the ground jerk violently, my vision swimming a bit before focusing on her looming face once more. She no longer looks beautiful, she looks frightening - her smile too bright, too twisted, too...knowing.  
  
 

"Did you know you were sowing your lot in with Mr. Potter when you chose it? Or is it the other way around?"  
  
 

"Pottrerr?" I gasp for air, spots of black forming in the corners of my vision and I blink and blink and blink - trying to displace them, only to have them grow and multiply. There's a small unhindered portion in the back of my mind that's telling me to run, to get out as fast as I possibly can, but I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot, my entire body lacing with shuddering pain, everything slowing inside me - my heart, my lungs, my pumping blood, even my thoughts - running with the speed of molasses.  
  

 

It's horribly, terrifyingly familiar.  
  
 

"Was it on purpose?" She plows on, standing so close now I can feel her hot breath on my face but I can't move back from it, can't escape her piercing gaze. "Or was it plain foolishness, sentimentality binding your heart?" She pauses, studying me, perhaps waiting for a reply but I can't speak, my tongue a thick, hot, weight glued to the roof of my mouth and trapping the poisonous air in my lungs. "Foolishness it seems indeed."  
  
 

All I can do it stare wide eyed at her, my eyes pulled and pried and stuck open, my mind trying desperately to catch up and understand. There's a loud creaking from behind me, a new shift of feet, a mumbled new voice that's seeping into me but not penetrating. Then a pressure on my back, a pain spreading straight through my gut and with a jerk I catch the slightest glimpse of long auburn hair before Safiya's grasping my arm - her sharp nails dipping into my boiling skin and keeping me from falling.  
  
 

"Tell me Draco can you feel it? Can you feel it coming?" She grins with eyes of blue flame, her hissed words ringing in my ears second before it all goes black.


	21. Unraveling

  
  
  
_"Hey."_  
  
 

_ The snow is piled thick. Flakes building one atop the other, a growing, evolving landscape - white and green as far as the eye can see. It's a wasteland that burns with a touch, a tip of a finger pressed hard and deep - it billows down and scorches its mark, only to recover and be filled once more with enough time. Snow - a force that alludes to a cleansing fire but only buries the filth deep away until the time comes for it be uncovered. _   
  
 

_ And uncovered it will be. _   
  
 

_ "Draco, come on, talk to me." I feel the presence of Harry's body slip down next to me, can hear the tentative sadness and flick of annoyance in his voice. "You know if you don't open that mouth of yours soon I'm going to start to think that something’s really wrong." He tries for a laugh but there's a pained, worry edge to his tone as his shoulder jostles into mine. _   
  
 

_ Just like every other time we've spoken since we destroyed the diadem yesterday. We should have left already, should have abandoned this forest as fast as we could afterwards but we didn't. And it's my fault. _   
  
 

_ "I'll be in soon." I reply without looking at him. Because I can't. I can't lift my head and glance over, I can't gaze into his wide green eyes, I can't lift my hand and touch his cheek, or brush the wild unmanageable air from his face. I don't even know why, I just...can't. Just like I couldn't let him sleep with me last night. _   
  
 

_ "That's what you said two hours ago." He grumbles. "You've been out here all day." _   
  
 

_ "Enjoying the view." I reply sarcastically, the stretch of white upon white upon white making my eyesight go cross and dizzy after so much time staring at it. _   
  
 

_ He snorts, laying his head on my shoulder. His ears are freezing, I can feel it even through my thick jacket. "Sure you are." He counters, reaching over and prying my frozen fingers apart before lacing his own warm ones through them, my gaze shifting down for the first time in I don't even know how long to stare at our entwined hands. _   
  
 

_ I shouldn't be touching him. Right? I...shouldn't. _   
  
 

_ "Alright there? We have held hands before...it’s not that strange." He chuckles. _   
  
 

_ "Harry." I sigh tiredly, trying to pull away only to find myself trapped, his hands clamped over mine in an unbreakable lock. "Let go." I panic, suddenly uncontrollably afraid. His touch is too hot, too real, and too close. It's stealing my air and compressing my burning lungs. _   
  
 

_ He stares at me and shakes his head. "No." He says firmly, standing with me as I jump up, never losing hold of my hand. "Tell me what's going on." _   
  
 

_ "Just let go." I repeat, feeling the evil swamp of blackness inside me gurgle and laugh. I shake my head quickly, blinking rapidly against the feeling. _   
  
 

_ It's not real. It can't be real. The diadem is destroyed. Harry killed the bit of soul. But I can't shake the feeling that it's touched me, that it's tainted me, that it's...waiting. But I can't tell him, I can't look into his wide heroic eyes and inform him that I'm ruined. I can't tell him that he didn't kill it in time. He can't know, he'll just try to save me all over again but I don' think there's any way to be saved from something I can't see...something I can only feel encroaching on the edges, something that only screams to vivid reality in my dreams. Something that only sours my thoughts just enough for me to think I'm going mad before it's gone again. _   
  
 

_ I don't even know how to explain it. I'll sound fucking mental. _   
  
 

_ "Draco, please just tell me. Are you still sick? Let's go inside, I'll make you some tea yeah?" _   
  
 

_ "I'm fine." I snap, the thick tar curling and reaching and I jerk my fingers, trying to keep it from touching him. _   
  
 

_ "No you're not." He grumbles, tugging on my hand when I try to turn away and pulling sharply until I stumble against him. "I can tell when you're lying you know. I know something's bothering you. Did I do something? Are you mad at me?" _   
  
 

_ Snowflakes fill his hair, falling on his nose and melting in sliding smudges on his glasses. I watch them fall and disappear on his heated, red cheeks. I swallow around a lump that seems to grow with each flake that hits his skin, turning his lips redder and redder, growing progressively wetter with each passing moment. Snow doesn't hide his filth, because he has none, he's the world’s pure hero. _   
  
 

_ And I'm filled with residual darkness from the man who’s taken everything from him. _   
  
 

_ Which means…I need to end it. I need to make sure he never touches me again. _   
  
 

_ "The wars almost over." I say quietly, watching his mouth as his lips turn down into a contemplative frown, a snowflake landing between his slightly parted lips. _   
  
 

_ "Are you worried?" He doesn't voice the last part of his thought, the part where he's wondering if I'm afraid that he'll fail, but I can see the thought clearly on his face anyway. _   
  
 

_ Oh how wrong he is. _   
  
 

_ "No, you'll beat him." I reply, the snow melting only to be replaced by a new flake, like the storm is bent on making his mouth as red as a damn cherry. _   
  
 

_ "Then what...?" He wraps his free arm around my waist and I fight the instinct to shove him away, worried that if he gets too close that the darkness will somehow infect him. But I don't. One last time is all I can think as I bend and press a deep kiss to his snow chilled lips, my ears filling with the surprised yet pleased little sounds spilling from his throat. _   
  
 

_ I'll miss these sounds the most I think. Like even after all this time he's pleasantly surprised that I'm kissing him, meeting me with a still shy eagerness. _   
  
 

_ Pulling back, I rest my forehead against his, his mouth stretching into a smile as I hold his face in my frozen hands. "What was that for?" He asks, sounding somewhat dazed and breathless. And I can't really blame him. I haven't touched him nor let him really touch me since I finally regained my composure after he kissed me senseless after the soul tried to overtake me. _   
  
 

_ Because that's what it was doing. I'm positive of that now. It wasn't trying to kill me. It was trying to turn me into its new home. Maybe it did, I don't know. Just add that to the growing list of why I need to keep him from me. _   
  
 

_ "Harry." I say softly then pause, closing my eyes so I don't have to look at him as I force the words that need to be said out. "I don't think we should see each other anymore." _   
  
 

_ His entire body tenses in a flash, his voice quiet and hoarse when he finally speaks. "What?" _   
  
 

_ "It's inevitable really. It's best to make a clean break." I say, trying to believe my own reasons. _   
  
 

_ "You're...you're joking." His arms tighten around me as I attempt to pull back, my hands falling from his face. "That makes no sense!" _   
  
 

_ "Be reasonable." I mutter, his sleep deprived, purple rimmed eyes darkening with anger and a panic that tugs at my heart. But anger's good, I need to fuel that anger. _   
  
 

_ "Reasonable." He snaps. "You can't be serious." _   
  
 

_ "Actually Potter, I'm quite serious. It's time to end this...thing." I meet his gaze dead on, letting the last word hang off my tongue like it's something disgusting. _   
  
 

_ "What the fuck Draco? Was this just some sort of…of…game to you?" He looks wild with his snow filled hair and red face, his grip painfully tight around my waist, eyes sparking with desperation. _   
  
 

_ "Course not." I bite out, even though I should probably convince him that it was. That he was just a diversion, a toy to play with, it would make him let go. It would make him hate me and never look back. But even though I should - that it was my original intent even - I can't, I can't bear to have him think that all this time has meant nothing to me when that's the furthest thing from the truth. Not unless I have to. "But honestly what did you think? That we'd live happily ever after? That all your little fans would let you be with a branded Death Eater? We had our fun but it's time to return to the real world." _   
  
 

_ "You're not a Death Eater." He says lowly and I growl with frustration. Of course that's the one thing he picks up on. _   
  
 

_ Pushing out of his arms, I take a step back. "I have a Mark that says differently." I reply calmly, even though I feel anything but. _   
  
 

_ "I don't care what anyone thinks." He moves towards me with a small, unsure smile, my own steps flowing backwards with each one he takes. _   
  
 

_ "You will in time." _   
  
 

_ "So what, we can't be together because it might piss some people off and I might hypothetically one day agree? That's bullshit. What’s the real reason? Huh? You better tell me if you expect to get rid of me." He's glowing in anger, seething in his tone, but his eyes are shining, wet and welling but refusing to spill over. _   
  
 

_ I look down. "You're right. I don't want you anymore, it's as simple as that." There's a hot prong searing my heart as my words float in the chilly air between us, the only sound his harsh breathing and the inaudible sound of my heart breaking. But it's for the best right? I can't have him anymore, I can't touch him, I can't be the darkness in his life that he'll spend forever trying to rescue. _   
  
 

_ It will drive us both mad. _   
  
 

_ "I don't believe you. Something's wrong, just tell me, we can fix it!" And there it is. Fix it. He'll never stop trying if I tell him. _   
  
 

_ I stare at his boots, covered with snow, the black toe peeking out in defiance. "Why bother?" I shrug lazily, still tracing the curve of his boot. "I'm tired of you, of us." _   
  
 

_ "Look at me and say it again you coward." His tone is deadly calm, so unlike him that it has my head snapping up on its own. A single tear has fallen, streaking with the snow on his cheek. _   
  
 

_ Abandonment. Rejection and loss of love. Those are his biggest fears, I know this. It's so easy to exploit someone's weaknesses when you know them inside and out. _   
  
 

_ "I don't want you Potter." I repeat, using his surname like a knife, spitting it out on the tip of my tongue with as much venom as I can muster. _   
  
 

_ His jaw clenches, his fist curling at his side. "Liar." _   
  
 

_ "Afraid not. Believe it or not, you're not everyone's dream come true. You grow stale rather quickly in all reality." I hate myself the moment they leave my mouth but I don't have long to regret and reflect on my lie because the next moment there's a pain exploding across my jaw, spreading up my cheek and forcing me back several steps as I stumble to keep my balance. _   
  
 

_ "You fucking liar!" He swings at me again, my hand just barely managing to catch his fist in time, the shock of the diverted blow tingling up my arm. "Why are you doing this?!" He breaks free and knocks a jab into my stomach, sending all the air rushing out of my lungs in one painful push. _   
  
 

_ He's angry but it's not enough, he's still fighting for us. "Makes a good story, doesn't it? Harry Potter bending over for a Death Eater, should make all the front pages. Notoriety has its uses." _   
  
 

_ His face contorts with fury and heart shattering hurt and with a loud cry he tackles me to the ground, my body sinking into the snow as he lands atop me with a fury twisting his body and directing his movements. Pain erupts through my back, down my arms, around my chest, and along my face as we struggle against each other, Harry landing blows every now and then but mostly it's a strange push and pull - like he can't decide if he wants to be beat me unconscious or try and kiss me until I forget I ever tried to break up with him. _   
  
 

_ I hope he manages it. The snow is swirling in a dizzy cloud above me, flashing in and out of his black mop of a head, and I can't fight. I just let him hit me, taking it, hoping that maybe he'll drive out this filth I feel overtaking me. Or maybe he'll kill me and I won't have to live with myself any longer. _   
  
 

_ "Fight me!" He shouts, looking deranged, screaming out as my arms stay limp. "Goddamn it Draco." He nearly sobs, curling his fists into my shirt and dragging me up against his chest as he straddles me and leans down. _   
  
 

_ When he kisses me, my jaw aching and head spinning, I nearly melt against his lips and quiet sobs. He's all power and fury and command and such urgent need that I can't pry myself free. I don't want to even try despite the fear that I'll ruin him with my touch. There's the taste of blood on his tongue and I have no idea if it's his or mine, but it's sharp and tangy, mixing with the snow and salty tears that I fear might be mine as I open my mouth fully to his invasion. _   
  
 

_ "You're such a damn liar." He repeats against my lips, whether to convince himself or further argue with me I'm not sure but he's pushing me back into the snow, fumbling with the buttons on my jacket with hands that are no doubt bruised. And I need to stop him, need to tear my mouth away and insult him some more, and turn my expression into stone - but instead I hear myself moaning as he rubs his crotch against mine, his hand fighting its way under my shirt to the equally cold and hot skin beneath. "You want me. I know you do, I can fucking feel it." His lips find my neck and sucks, marking me in an instant with purple bruises that will stay around for days. _   
  
 

_ It makes the green and white canopy merge in a canvas of mixed paint. It makes the noise in my head quiet, till all I can hear is him.  _

_     
_

_ I feel like I'm in the middle of a battle, the bit of evil soul on one side and Harry on the other, both shouting at me to succumb to them. But I can't move towards either, my back boneless against the freezing ground. _   
  
 

_ Then he's mumbling again and there's a darkness creeping in the sides of my vision and I shake my head, dispelling it but not before it drags me back to reality. _   
  
 

_ "It's just sex." I gasp, trying my best to sound convincing but I highly doubt it is. Not with my hips rocking into his and my hands threading harshly through his hair. But most importantly not with my pulse jumping erratically with the beat of my heart and his name falling in a groan unbidden from my throat. _   
  
 

_ He jerks back and slaps me. Hard. Enough to make my eyes water but it doesn't kill the arousal pumping through me like it should as I stare up at his livid gaze. I don't know what's wrong with me, why the power and anger emitting off him is making me harder, faster than I thought possible, why I'm barely fighting, why I'm giving in when I need to be pushing him away. _   
  
 

_ Then his wand is in his hand so quickly I have no idea how it got there and with a flick and mumble the snow suddenly isn't cold, instead it feels like a warm blanket under me, my clothes inexplicably gone, leaving me completely naked and exposed. "Just sex?" He hisses, my cock heavy and twitching against my stomach. "Is that all you want from me? Want me to be your little whore?" _   
  
 

_ I shudder as he trails his wand down my chest and stomach, wanting to open my mouth and tell him no. That I want all of him, for all time. But I clamp my lips tightly shut around the words, his cheek twitching and gaze clouding at the obvious refusal to answer. _   
  
 

_ "What, can't say it? Too hard for you to admit? I'm surprised, isn't that what Slytherin's are best at? Taking what you want and bragging about it? So if it's just fucking then take me damn it. Get one last story!" His hands are on his jeans, undoing the fly with graceful movements he normally can't manage while we're in the heat of it, jerking them down so quickly and hard I'm a bit surprised the fabric doesn't rip. _   
  
 

_ "Stop." I croak out, intending to reach out to still his movements with my hands but he flicks his wand again, my arms flying above my head and held down like a weight is pinning them in place. _   
  
 

_ "Getting a conscious are you?" His jeans and boxers are thrown to the side within a blink, his naked thighs straddling me once more with his dark red shirt trying and failing to cover his jutting erection. He twirls his wand in his hand, glaring down at me while he pants roughly - and I can't fucking breathe, he looks perfect. Angry and hurt and yet at the same time utterly aroused.  _   
  
 

_ "I don't want to fuck you anymore." I narrow my eyes, pulling against the invisible weights keeping me pinned. _   
  
 

_ "Your cock says differently." He points out, reaching down and wrapping his hand around it, my eyes fluttering against my will as he strokes it roughly with nearly painful jerks. "So make up your mind, is it just sex or not?" _   
  
 

_ "Harry..." I groan, unsure of what I meant to follow it up with but it doesn't matter because nothing else makes it out as I gasp and jerk up into his touch. "Get the hell off." I finally spit out after drawing in a shuttering breath. There’s more words spilling out my lips – angry, biting, hurtful words that I can’t seem to stop but at the same time have to fight with each one to get out. _   
  
 

_ He smacks me again, his teeth ripping into his bottom lip as he does so. "Back to Harry now? God you're hard." With a quick tap of his wand his hand is suddenly slick, sliding up and down with expert ease, twisting and pulling at just the right times in just the right places. "Sadistic bastard." _   
  
 

_ And god is he right, my back arching as he twitches his wrist, my stinging cheek adding a strange sort of vibrant edge to everything. It's the first time that the darkness doesn't seem vast and all consuming, it's the first time that it's been driven so far down that I have to force myself to remember it's there. _   
  
 

_ "Admit you were using me if that's the truth. Fucking say it, call me your whore." _   
  
 

_ He looks mental, green blazing with a fire that's frightening and breathtaking all at once. "You’re my whore." I breathe out, unable to look away from him, unable to give him the truth, I can only sink myself further into the lie - watching as he battles not to believe it. _   
  
 

_ He sets his jaw, dropping his wand and grabbing my cock so roughly I cry out, the sound quickly turning strangled as he lifts up and promptly sinks down on it with a long, pained hiss. _   
  
 

_ "Oh fuck." I gasp, my eyes rolling back in my head as he envelopes me in his heat that's so tight, too tight - to the point of it almost being too much. It takes several long moments of him sitting silently and motionless atop me before I can focus again, before my breath calms down enough that I can pry my eyes open to look up at him. _   
  
 

_ His back is perfectly straight, shoulders strung taut, head bowed with snow flecked hair hanging in his face, his brow unmistakably sweaty as he struggles to breathe evenly. His abused mouth is hanging open, chest heaving, and I want nothing more than to pull him to me, to run my hands up and down his back, to sooth his tight muscles. Or maybe I want to insult him some more so he'll hit me again and send my mind reeling so I can't think and only feel. Instead I jerk my hips, a choked gasp escaping his lips as his spine curves, his head falling back and exposing his long neck. _   
  
 

_ "Shit." He groans, clamping his thighs against my hips to keep me still. With an experimental roll of his hips he moans loudly, cursing my name as he reaches behind himself to grasp above my knees, his hands shaking. "Don't shut up now. Need me to write the story for you?" He snaps, lifting up on his knees and slamming back down with a shout, his eyes screwing shut as he works himself up and down, harshly impaling himself on my cock over and over again. _   
  
 

_ I don't know what to say, don't know what he wants as I struggle to keep any wits about me, the pleasure building quickly inside me threatening to send my vision white each time he smacks down and draws up. "Fuck yourself harder Potter." I growl. _   
  
 

_ "You...god damn it...yessss." Harry’s thighs are trembling, his cock bouncing as he rides me, sweat catching the shirt on his chest and glistening on his legs - urging me to call him all the horrible things I can think of. _   
  
 

_ And Merlin help me, I do. I call him a dirty slut, a cock-whore, a used up piece of arse, I spit his name and try not to see stars. Which each degrading word that slips from me he gasps and groans and shakes, demanding more, struggling to keep up his pace, trying to drag in air that's leaving his lungs faster than he can stand. _   
  
 

_ "Let my hands go." I demand, snapping my hips up to meet him as he descends from each bounce. _   
  
 

_ "No." He doesn't miss a beat, doesn't stop in his bouncing as he finally locks eyes with me, and I wish he hadn't. "It's my turn to take." _   
  
 

_ "Potter." His name is harsh to my own ears, his voice going silent with a pronounced gasp as I plant my feet and push up quickly, driving myself so deeply inside him that he nearly topples over, his mouth hanging open as he tries and fails to draw a breath. He blinks and then my hands are free, the feeling of a snake slithering from around my wrists and off covering my skin in goosebumps for only a moment before I reach out and wrap my fingers around his straining prick. _   
  
 

_ He stills, staring down at my hand around him, his eyes still blinking rapidly. "Draco..." _   
  
 

_ "Move." I order and he does, lifting up and sitting down, alternately thrusting into my hand and filling himself full with me. It doesn't take long, he's shuddering and losing his rhythm, his eyes wide and rounded and fixed on mine, a question that he can no longer ask and I cannot answer stretching between us. _   
  
 

_ And then he's seizing up, his mouth open around a cry, and before I can stop myself, I'm grasping his thighs - yanking him up my body till his knees are just over my shoulders, his upper body falling forward until his hands catch himself over my head on the ground, my neck craning to envelope his throbbing cock in my mouth. He babbles nonsense as I suck, once, twice, then my tongues flooding with his release. I suck and swallow until there's nothing left, an odd sort of joyful depression filling me as I do so, my head falling back with my eyes shut tight when he's given all he has. _   
  
 

_ He shakes as he straights up but stays where he is, sitting on my chest and cutting off my air supply, yet I don't ask him to move. Don't want him to.  _

__

__

_ "I..." He clears his throat and my eyes pop open without my permission. He's staring down at me with his glasses askew and his green gaze filled with questions and tangible longing - all his anger from moments ago lost in the haze cooling around him. _   
  
 

_ I'm sure that last act just gave me away completely, severed any hope that he actually believed my indifference towards him. Why I am so hopeless around him? _   
  
 

_ Pushing on his hips till he slides back enough for me to sit up with my hands propped behind me, I find myself staring back at him - fully intending to send him off, to thank him for the fuck and ask him to leave, but of course the words aren’t coming, they’ve gotten lodged painfully in my chest. _

__

__

_ He searches me silently then snaps his own mouth shut, grabbing my hair and yanking me into a kiss before I can get the words out, wiggling just a little until he manages to slide back onto my still hard prick. _   
  
 

_ "Potter." I moan, trying somewhat successfully to dodge his kisses, my own lips betraying me and moving against his each time he captures them.  _   
  
 

_ "Please...no more lies." He twists, legs wrapped around my waist, dragging me with him until he's on his back under me. "Is this all you want?" He rolls his hips, pushing them up and down slowly, dragging my cock inside his abused passage. _   
  
 

_ "I want -" I shut myself up by kissing him again, knowing deep down that I can't say no to him - that he knows me too well to believe it anyway, that I've already fucked it up. "You." It's simple but it's the truth, just like he asked for. And who knows maybe I won't ruin him, maybe he can save me. _   
  
 

  
  
_Or more likely, I'm just being purely selfish._  
  
 

_ "Best not forget it." He smiles, relief flooding his face and maybe he wasn't as confident that I was lying as I thought he was. Maybe he was unsure. "So no more break up talk." _   
  
 

_ I nod, dropping my head against his shoulder and thrusting shallowly, not wanting to end our physical connection. "Harry, I have something to tell you." I whisper, taking strength in the way his legs are wrapped so snugly around me, how his hand is combing through my hair, in the smile I can feel stretched on his lips and the little sigh he makes with ever inward thrust. _   
  
 

_ "Mhmmm?" _   
  
 

_ "I think that maybe I -" There's a flash in the distance, my words dying on my tongue as I glance up just in time to see a tree shatter to pieces just down the hill, a scream joining the bursting debris.  
  
  
  
  
  
* _ ***  
  
  
  
  
  
Consciousness comes back to me like a slap. Hard and fast with lightning pain that explodes on contact.  
  
 

I feel the air, clean and sharp, fill my lungs, hear the intake rush in my ears as my head snaps up with the pounding in my skull multiplying tenfold. There's a half formed cry on my lips, scratching through my throat, my arms trying to surge out but I can't move - a coarse twine binding my wrists together behind me - the chair beneath me bucking and creaking with my jerks.  
  
 

I pant and suck in air till I think my chest might burst, trying desperately to slow the pulse regulating my body, but above all I blink. I blink and blink and blink, over and over again but it doesn't change. There's a stretch of black as far as I can see, no fleck of light, no shimmering dot in the distance. It's wholly night before me and it's making my breath and heart thunder.  
  
 

It is shadow. All around me. Shadow upon shadow upon shadow with no light to grant me escape.  
  
 

I hate darkness, every little piece of it terrifies me down deep in the marrow of my bones.  
  
 

Don't panic. Don't fucking panic.  
  
 

_ "Can you feel it Draco? Can you feel it coming?" _   
  
 

Safiya's voice swims in my head, remembering in vivid detail how my name - my real, given name - had slipped off her tongue with her twisted sweet smile. She knew it. She knows it...she knows me. Not Dray Evans, she knows Draco Malfoy.  
  
 

_ "All of it." _   
  
 

All of it, she said. All my fucking money, every last knut in the Malfoy vaults wouldn't be enough to buy her off. Vaults she apparently knows about. Oh god. I can still smell the laced smoke clinging to my skin like I've been bathed in it - rose and liquorish, intoxicating and overwhelming in the small room, now just a queasy reminder in my pores. I knew there was something off about the air, I knew it the moment I stepped foot in the hall.  
  
 

Yet I didn't run. Why didn't I run?  
  
 

It's the scab all over again, picking at it, staring at the renewed gaping skin, blowing smoke so it won't ever heal. Is that what kept me in place? A deep ingrained belief that I deserve to be punished, torn apart, and made useless. Is that what turned off any sense of self-preservation? Then again this was before I knew, before I had any clue that she knew so much about me. Moments ago she was just a mad woman, bent on money and power and keeping me around her finger.  
  
 

Now she's terrifying and it feels like her eyes are still on me, as if I'm her prized sheep – used and ready for the ax. In this darkness, bound and helpless, I feel as if it's happening all over again. That my vision will be returned and I'll be in that muddy pit in the mountains once more, starving and freezing, thankful for the day the ladder drops only to wish to god I had never climbed to the rim and met with the horrible man and vile woman who awaited me with their sick ideas and methods to bring it about.  
  
 

It just doesn't make any sense, how could she know...how could she bloody know who I am?! And how long has she known? Did she recognize me on our first meeting? Did she take one glance at my platinum locks and surmise I was the missing Malfoy heir? Or did it take longer? Was it a gradual realization or did someone tell her? But then that brings up the question of who...who would know me in this muggle world and inform her?  
  
 

Then there's the vastly alarming notion that she's more then she seems. That she knows about me, about my vaults, because she knows that world - and maybe she was once a part of it herself.  
  
 

I can't...I can't...I can't think. My head is throbbing fiercely, my skin crawling, my binds digging into my wrists - the sting of flaying flesh biting across me and drawing little droplets of blood as I pull against them. I know I need to stop, that wiggling about will do absolutely nothing, especially in the pitch black I've been shrouded in, but I can't seem to.  
  
 

I feel frantic, edgy, terrified, and confused beyond reason. Because nothing is adding up, I don't understand...  
  
 

But then all I can think is she was right. Bella was right. It's time, it's here, the line's snipping and I'm falling and I can't fucking see.   
  
 

And really it's all adding up perfectly if I turn just a fraction and look at it at just the right angle. There's Safiya, with her wicked ropes around my everyday life, and there's Bella with the threat of collapsing me completely and dragging me under again, and there's me...swinging and swinging and swinging. I've been swinging too long. How these two awful woman come together is beyond me but it’s happening. It's the push my Aunts been trying for all this time. It's the last straw she tried to break all those years ago with all her torture and mind games.  
  
 

I wasn't broken then, not completely, I was damaged beyond repair but not broken. But like they said, it's time, it’s coming and somehow...they both know it.  
  
 

And I'm starting the process myself, unraveling in this unknown. Maybe that's why she left me here, blinded, maybe she knew that this is what shadows would do to me.  
  
 

With a frantic, desperate urge to slow the madness creeping through me, I try to focus all myself on the pocket holding Harry's coin. Seeking the burn and weight of it against my thigh - needing that connection with him now more than ever before. If only he'd told me exactly how it would help me if I needed it. But with a sharp hiss, I realize that it's not there, that the pressure is gone, that I can't feel his magic tingling against my skin.  
  
 

Safiya must have taken it, stripping that last little bit of him away, removing my last hope. How in the world did she know of its presence, let alone its significance? With a sickening lurch, I feel myself spinning, trying with all my might to grab onto my whirling thoughts and slow them to a reasonable pace. Because this isn't making sense, no matter how many times I spin around it, no matter how matter a fact it feels. There has to be an explanation...there has to be something. This can't be it. I refuse for this to be it.  
  
 

I just got him back.  
  
 

There's a strangled sound that teeters between a sob and a laugh forcing its way past my lips. I knew that it wouldn't last though didn't I? I knew I couldn't stay sane for long. I knew I would fall in the end.  
  
 

I just thank Merlin he's not here to be dragged under with me.  
  
 

But then...I can still see him, even in this dark, his eyes so so green, his stormy hair, his loving touch, his mischievous smile. There's an ache growing in my heart that's starting to rival the pounding in my head and...fuck. I want to feel him one last time, I shouldn't have left in such a hurry. I should have let him drag me back to bed. I should have given into his heated kisses and the promise of a new life he holds in his gaze, should have let him take us away.  
  
 

I should have...  
  
 

I need to stop. I need to focus, damn it. I'm not even making sense to myself. One thing at a time then. What do I know?  
  
 

Madame Safiya knows me and has no intention of letting me go. I don't know what she wants. She has Harry's coin. She may or may not be a witch. I don't know where I am. It doesn't smell like a basement or (thankfully) a pit, it smells fresh and open, like a top floor with a cracked window...  
  
 

Bella is supposedly dead but I know she's near, even now. I can feel her. I don't know how their possibly connected.  
  
 

Harry doesn't know where I am but he'll figure it out soon and come looking, probably blowing doors off their hinges and charging forward like a fucking white knight. Granger won't stay quiet for long, she'll spill my plan if nothing else.  
  
 

I'm tied to a chair. I can't see but there's the softest touch of fabric on my cheeks - a blindfold, which means light will return in due time, thank fucking Merlin. I think I'm alone.  
  
 

I should have brought my wand and just cursed her, damn the consequences. Or let Harry do it, I know he's been itching to for weeks now.  
  
 

There's a slide of movement to my left and I still, straining against my binds with muscles pulled taut. Closing my eyes, willing myself to except the darkness - something that goes against every little part of me - I cock my head, listening intently.  
  
 

"Settled on a decision dear?" Safiya's voice is pronounced and loud, ringing through my ears ever though I know she spoke in her usual low cultured curl.  
  
 

It sets a fire in the pit of my stomach, burning like embers, threatening to sputter to life. "Options seem rather limited." I drawl in carefully clipped tones, picking up the softest sounds of her feet clicking faintly across the floor. One step, two, three, and a pause...  
  
 

"Does it now?" There's a smile in her tone that comes across clearly and I force myself to relax back against the chair as much as I dare, letting my fingers stayed curled into fists but no longer pulling against the binds. I listen attentively in her pause, hoping to draw out any other sounds, any other person in the room but it's futile. There's nothing, nothing but the soft click of her heels and a gentle, nearly unnoticeable breeze. "I'll help you out then shall I?"  
  
 

"To the point would be brilliant." I monotone, listen to two more steps, a light inhale of breath, and a feather soft touch running under the band of the blindfold over my cheekbone, her touch cool and steady, sending shivers of nervous apprehension down my spine - my stomach churning as I fight against cringing away.  
  
 

"Content in the dark?" She's so near, the outline of her form nearly tangible around me and if it wasn't for the binds on my hands and feet I could lash out and bring her down even with my lack of sight.  
  
 

"Rather comfy." I lie, hoping the turmoil I feel in the black doesn't come through.  
  
 

She withdrawals her sliding finger with a soft laugh. "Such defiance. Family trait it seems, though not so much in the end was it?" I clench my jaw on impulse, fighting away thoughts of my mother and father, knowing deep down that she's trying to disorient me further - bringing up just enough hints of how much she knows about me without delving further. "Ah there it is, that strong jaw line, never could miss a Malfoy...forget the hair, though shocking it is, it's all about the eyes and the defiant jaw."  
  
 

"Are you expecting a thank you?" I ask after she pauses for effect.  
  
 

"Course not dear nor do I expect you to beg...yet."  
  
 

"I thought we were getting to the point."  
  
 

"Tetchy." She tisks and I hear two clicks as she rounds me. "I feel as if introduction are in order."  
  
 

"Grand." I grind out.  
  
 

There's a sudden hand on my left forearm, pressing down and caressing over the skin that once held the Dark Mark, massaging along the thick jagged scar in its place. "Come now, I want to hear you say it, like your mother taught you. Your name dear?"  
  
 

Her fingers dig deep even through the fabric of my long sleeved shirt, a nauseating pull concentrated in the heart of the scar and spreading outward. It's all a game and I know every little move matters, if only I could see the board, if only I could calculate the players and their stances. But I don't have that luxury and like she said, defiance is most definitely a family trait. "Dray Evans." I reply and her fingers twist with painfully sharp nails.  
  
 

"Evans." She sighs, long-suffering. "Such a mundane, homely name. It's rather appalling compared to the legacy you're shunning."  
  
 

"And how would you know that exactly Madame?"  
  
 

"Indirectly of course." She says sweetly in answer, eluding the real question.  
  
 

"Of course." I incline my head in graceful acquisition like we are having a polite conversation while I'm not tied down and can’t fucking see. "But you can't really expect me to shed my mask while you stay behind yours." My heart slows to a dull thud as I await her reply, her breath coming in soft puffs along my neck as her hand curls around my forearm.  
  
 

"Ah yes, masks indeed. Though ours are vastly different darling."  
  
 

"How so?"  
  
 

Safiya edges her fingers under the cuff of my shirt, pulling up inch by slow inch. "You are running. Hiding. Ashamed, yes? I am not. I am Madame Safiya through and through, it's pointless to back pedal to who I once was because I am stronger now. I am powerful and satisfied and shortly I shall have the last thing that's holding me back."  
  
 

"Oh? And what's that?" I ask, dread lacing through me, running down to meet the deepest parts of me that I keep so well hidden. Her words mirror Bella's ranting’s so similarly that it's nearly debilitating hearing them again.

  
  
Yanking my sleeve up the rest of the way, she places her hand almost relevantly over my cursed skin while at the same time wrapping her other arm around me to place a hand sharply over my heart. Her voice is directly in my ear when she finally speaks with a hum of satisfaction, like she's holding a prized jewel she's been searching for, for years. "You of course. Or more precisely what you're hiding inside this frail heart."  
  
 

"You're delusional." I breathe, knowing she can feel my heartbeat thundering in my chest as she presses harshly over it, but I can't slow it, can't catch my breath entirely. Because it's happening all over again.  
  
 

"Am I?" She chuckles. "I don't think so and really neither do you. You know I'm right, I can feel your acceptance and fear running through you. So very beautiful."  
  
 

"Fear isn't beauty." I feel inclined to point out, even if only so I have something to say, something that may distract her for a moment longer.  
  
 

"I'm afraid I must disagree yet again. It's the purest form of beauty there is and you dear will be so very lovely through it all." She places a kiss against my neck, running her fingers over my scar in long circles. "Who knows, perhaps I'll keep you for myself once it's all done."  
  
 

"You mean once I'm dead?" I question, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to ignore the feeling of her lips on me, a touch that should be reserved for Harry and Harry alone.  
  
 

"I rather hope it doesn't come to that. Your cooperation might just prove the difference though." She lets go of my arm and straightens behind me, hand still lingering on my chest.  
  
 

Cooperation. Right.  
  
 

Like fucking hell I'll cooperate.  
  
 

"Sorry to disappoint." I all but spit out, my composure slowly unraveling around me with every touch and second that passes. I don't want this. I can't do this. Not again. I can't live through this again.  
  
 

"She said you'd say that." Safiya sighs, not without anger.  
  
 

I feel my veins turn to ice, blood frozen in mid-flow, cutting off oxygen to my brain, my heart, my limbs, everything going instantly cold and numb. "She?" I don't know how I manage to get it out and even though I'm nearly positive I know who she's speaking of, it's like I can't believe it. Can't accept it, even as it stares at me full on.  
  
 

"Intriguing isn't it? She'll be here soon enough but first I'd like to show you something." Safiya's hand moves over my chest, up the curve of my neck to linger on the edge of my blindfold - pausing just long enough for me to almost bite out at her to get it on with it and be done with the damn theatrics. "We have a bit of a walk to take but just so you know, there's a gun trained on you, if you try anything you'll find yourself bleeding all over the floor."  
  
 

I swallow and nod as her fingers leave the edge of the blindfold, leaving it in place as she moves to undo my binds - the cool touch of steel at my ankles as she slashes the twine binding my legs to the chair. Standing is awkward as she grasps my arm and pulls me up without freeing my hands, my balance nearly giving out completely amongst the jerking movement and my lack of sight through it all. I have a brief but strong urge to lash out at her and try to take her down as she shoves me forward and marches me down a thickly carpeted hall - a different hall then the one I walked down to meet her, which means we are either on another floor or in another building entirely.  
  
 

I convulsively swallow my panic and place one foot in front of the other, clenching my hands together behind me, the skin of my wrists chaffed, burning and stringing with each little twitch. The number of steps multiply in my head, growing unnervingly high as I stumble down a flight of stairs, am yanked around corners, pushed down another steeper staircase and through rooms that either buzz with lowly murmured voices or dead silence. The moment the air changes, growing dense and thick and strong, my feet catch in mid-step, the probing of rounded steel at my back the only thing that moves me forward with a sharp inhale.  
  
 

It doesn't hold the sickly sweet scent of rose and liquorish, it's much worse. It smells of old, dirty oil and the faint but distinct tang of blood. It wraps up my nostrils and threatens to send my stomach churning as a curl of smoke and a splash of impenetrably high heat rush out to meet me with the loud creak of a door swinging open on its neglected hinges. It reminds me of the Dark Lord and my days in the Manor living under his thumb, it brings to the forefront of my memory the terror of kneeling before him while he laughingly dealt out his torture.  
  
 

With a tug on my bound hands, I'm forced to a stop, my eyes watering beneath the blindfold. I get the feeling I'm standing in a threshold, unbearable heat before me and cooler but still warm air behind me. Then I find myself holding my breath as she draws the wide black cloth up, my eyes blinking in the sudden dim light as it passes over my lashes and comes to rest on my forehead, her hands retreating and leaving it there - threatening and waiting.  
  
 

Once the bright dots clear from my vision, everything comes slowly swimming into focus, the first thing I see being a bright shock of red hair pulled tightly back in a strict bun. Suddenly unable to swallow, my gaze travels down, over the high forehead, the narrowed deep brown eyes, passing over the thin pressed light pink lips to the stocky, slumping shoulders, and all the way down to the stubby little fingers wrapped snuggling around a long wand.  
  
 

"Let me introduce my dear cousin, Alecto Carrow, though I believe that you're already acquainted quite intimately." Safiya leans into my back and whispers into my ear, her voice so low that if every nerve in my body wasn't strung so taut I fear I may not have heard her at all.  
  
 

My heart stops in my chest as I stare at the sister of my torturer, so many horrid memories associated with the very woman herself. She's standing across the room, off to the side, a maniacal glint in her eyes. But she's not looking at us, she's staring at something on the ground, her fingers twitching against the length of her wand. There's a scrapping noise piercing the dank room and my gaze darts toward it without question, my eyes rounding wide and my stomach sinking into the ground beneath my feet, all air abandoning me and threatening never to return.  
  
 

Because there sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor, in the center of a ring drawn with what looks like dark oils and a lightly fuming paste, is Harry. He hasn't noticed me, he's staring at Alecto with a silent glare, a cigarette between his lips and his fingers dragging a match across the concrete beside him, producing a sound like nails on a chalk board. The match springs to life and with an unconcerned tilt of his head he lights the end aflame, breathing deeply and then exhaling with a smile that matches the madness in Carrow's eyes.  
  
 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the climax! Ahh took awhile but we're here :) Though...I feel a bit like I'm just talking to myself now. HELLO OUT THERE!!!


	22. Everything Falls

  
  
  
  
  
  
The Cruciatus curse is a very particular kind of horror.  
  
 

It rips through you in a way that makes you feel as if your very nerves are splitting like fine hairs, separating and melting down, only to be forced back together in order to split again. It's unending, frying your mind until you can't see straight or think right or even hear anything above your blood boiling in your own veins. My jaw and chest aches with trying to keep my screams in, my eyes watering and spilling burning streaks of salty water as I stare at the ceiling above me, my head too heavy for my body to support any longer - having long ago fallen back in a sharp curve that's adding to my inability to draw a breath.  
  
 

There's a faint trickle of blood where the shackles chaining my arms above my head and to the ceiling meet the sensitive skin of my wrists - the quick flick of Alecto's wand yanking them up so suddenly and quickly I almost dislocated my shoulders in the process as it strung and pulled me up until I was supported solely on my toes.  
  
 

The chains clank with each violent convulsion of my body.   
  
 

A bit dramatic in my opinion. But then again it's something to focus on. The sharp crash of steel on steel unnerving in itself and it’s barely enough but it's all I have. It's funny, watching my arms shake and strain, held captive by the metal rings. Funny, in a sick sadistic way that eats at my memory, forcing to mind things I'd rather forget.  
  
 

I think I might have even laughed at loud once before the sound got distorted and all ability to form anything but pained gasps left me.  
  
 

I don't know how long she's been at it. I've lost track of time, my vision blurring in and out along with my consciousness. Safiya hasn't asked anything, she's just standing near, with her ever sadistic smile, muttering commands that her cousin carries out.  
  
 

Her cousin. Alecto is Safiya's cousin. I still can't wrap my head around that fact, not that I've been given a moments peace to think on it.  
  
 

And Harry is on the floor beside me, inside his little circle of dirty oil, pacing like a caged animal but never moving within an inch of the smeared outline. He screamed at them to stop for a while, he pleaded and tried valiantly to save me from this fate. I remember Safiya's joyful expression as he alternated between raging furiously and desperate pleas. The angrier he got the more powerful Alecto's curses became, Harry's mouth snapping shut with horror once he realized it.  
  
 

The last glimpse I had of him - what feels like hours ago but who knows, it could have been a couple of minutes - he was clenching his shaking hands to his elbows, wobbling on his feet, returning and retreating nearly to the edge of the circle, his green eyes wide with terror and dangerous fury. I wish I could manage to look at him now but my entire body is splitting apart and I'm no longer in control of any part of me, my own heartbeat bursting from my suddenly too small rib cage, beating furiously like it's in allegiance with them and is bent on exploding from my chest.  
  
 

The pain ebbs slowly away and I vaguely hear myself gasp for air but I can't feel it fill my lungs, like it's dissipating the moment it passes through my lips.  
  
 

The respite is short lived, I can see the inevitable clearly - my head lolling forward and to the side like a force outside myself is pushing it up, making me look at the contrasting black and red haired women before me. I blink and they merge together, blink and they split apart. It makes everything spin or maybe it's been spinning and I just now am aware enough to notice.  
  
 

"One more time I should think." Safiya twirls her hair, studying me, my jaw set firmly against the shaking that wants to overtake me completely, or maybe already has, I can no longer tell - my body nearly slack in my restrains, my legs almost giving out completely under me, putting nearly breaking pressure on my captive wrists.  
  
 

Alecto grins and I glare at the pair of them with all the hate I can muster to show, Safiya's coy smile taunting me. I know I could put a momentary stop to this, that she wants me to open my mouth and give in to her yet unnamed demands. But I've been here before, I know what she wants, and I'll die either before or while giving it to her.  
  
 

Hopefully before.  
  
 

The long wand in Alecto's stubby grip flourishes, Harry lets out a shout that sounds far and disjointed, and my eyes roll back into my head as pain screams through me - my body convulsing, pulling against the chains in an attempt to curl into myself.  
  
 

The shackles clank and blackness is welcome.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
It's like swimming through tar.  
  
 

It's thick and clinging, sticking to me, slowing my stroking arms and paddling feet, choking down my throat, squeezing through my eyes. There's no montage of my life. No film for me to sit back and watch displayed before me. I don't see all my failures and most humiliating moments, nor do I get to relieve the bliss of the happiest times of my life.  
  
 

It's just...nothing. Nothing but black and pain and a sense of losing myself to something that's trying to turn me inside out. I imagine it's like dying but without the gratification of moving onto the afterlife or achieving the ultimate blankness.  
  
 

I wonder if this is what's it liked to be kissed by a Dementor? A slow, conscious kind of death.  
  
 

Harry once whispered to me, late at night, wrapped in my arms with his head on my chest, that he feared Dementors the most, that he considered being Kissed as the worst possible death. I remember how he had shivered as he spoke of it, retelling the story of his Godfather, the only loving family member that he knew...and lost. I don't know why but this is the only thing I can think of, the only thing that's penetrating the darkness surrounding and manifesting in me.  
  
 

It's only a small memory. A few lines of conversation but mostly it's the feel of it. The memory of the weight of his body curled around mine, of his fingers playing with my hair, with the way he looked at me - lifting his head to prop his chin on my chest. It was the first time I dared to believe that he loved me, truly and completely loved me. It left me breathless. The touch of his lips had been so soft, promising, chaste.  
  
 

"Take him down."  
  
 

That's Harry, I can recognize his voice anywhere and I feel suspended in time and space, unable to tell if I'm alive or dead - perhaps this is limbo, a place of floating just out of reach. But then...shouldn't death be less painful? Shouldn't the ache be gone if I'm crossing over? Or maybe it lingers until the final step, the final moment, our body’s last grasp at humanity. Maybe if I give in it will all go away, maybe the darkness will turn to light.  
  
 

I've stood here before haven't I? It's a crossroads, one I'm uncertain of where to go, up or down, deeper into the darkness and hopeful numbness or up to the light and pain.  
  
 

"Did you ever wonder Mr. Potter how you came to find him?" Safiya asks and I feel a prickling sensation run over what must be my back. It's hard to tell my hands from my feet at the moment. "How you came to Thailand, how you managed to find the flyer for his fight? How you made it in the door and then ringside? Ever stop to consider that it was all a little too...perfect?"  
  
 

Harry's reply is sharp and blurry around the edges, adding to the sense that my blood is trying to pump through numb, dead veins. I can't make out the words though, they simply spread through me and fall to the wayside.  
  
 

Safiya tsks and there's a pulling beneath my navel, drawing me up through the tar, my arms flailing wildly, unable to stop myself from fighting against it - because as the black merges with gray the pain is increasing as is the volume of voices, the stink of putrid air, the humidity of long suffering curses. I don't want it. I want mindlessness. I want the light of nothing.  
  
 

I want the cold winter nights, want to be back on my little cot with Harry, whispering in the dark and stealing kisses that were never really stolen but freely given.  
  
 

"...Believe what you will but you're here because I desired you to be here, you were reunited with Mr. Malfoy because that was the course that needed to run. Fate always needs a push, I just lent my hand..."  
  
 

I feel my heavy cemented eyelids try to flutter open, my sticky pain ridden eyes refusing obedience. I fight against it, hear myself groan painfully and then there's a muttering, a curse, and searing pain retakes me.  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
I used to wish Harry's curse during our sixth year had scarred me.  
  
 

I don't know why. Surely longing to be mutilated isn't something a sane person would wish for and yet I remember staring into my mirror in my bedroom at the Manor thinking just so. Naked to the waist, trying to dispel the stench of the Dark Lord all around me and gazing so intensely at my pale, bare chest that I'm surprised I didn't make the long thin scars appear just out of sheer will. I used to touch the spot where his curse split me open, my blood seeping and spilling to merge with the busted pipes, spewing water all around us. If I concentrated hard enough I could delude myself into believing that I could still feel Potter's touch in place of my own - his hands frantic and shaking with the realization of what he'd done.  
  
 

Perhaps I was desperate for a connection to him during those dark days. Perhaps I needed to be reminded that the world still had a savior, who was powerful, who wouldn't shy away from making the hard decisions, and who would carry them out. No matter the cost. No matter the bystanders brought down in his wake.  
  
 

Delusional wishing.  
  
 

Then came the day it shifted and I was glad he hadn't left scars. Because I don't think he could have taken it. I think the first time he had peeled my shirt off, his hands and eyes straying to my chest, tracing the invisible lines that I myself had traced too many times to count - I think that if he had been met with a different sight that he would have crumbled under the weight. And I didn't want to be the cause of more guilt and depression in his life.  
  
 

I wanted him to look at me and see someone whole. I needed him to see me as whole and unscathed despite the nasty mark on my forearm. He could make me feel powerful in his gaze, in his touch, in his kiss. Like he'd broken off a piece of his radiance and fitted it into my own aura.  
  
 

I've never understood the power he has over me, all my life, he's been there - a force to reckon with.  
  
 

But a power he is. A power I’ve both loathed and loved.  
  
 

And he's speaking now, like a damn angle, unseen - because I can't see anything, can't feel anything, can't even really hear anything, his voice sounding in my head like he's projecting it straight through me.  
  
 

The same voice that laughs at the stupidest of jokes, the voice that spikes with shyness, deepens with urgency, rasps with desire, whispers with the force of a legion. The voice that draws the 'o' out in my name like a prayer.  
  
 

"Draco, hey it's okay, it's okay...just breathe yeah?"  
  
 

My vision swims, so unfocused and wobbly it threatens to dispel any and all contents of my stomach, a cold, sticky, hardness pressed against my cheek - the world tilted on its side and zooming in and out of blackness.  
  
 

"Stay still okay?" Harry's voice is incredibly close and yet far away, awareness of my body suddenly coming sharply into reality and god do I wish it had stayed numb.  
  
 

The pain is unbearable.  
  
 

With a blink everything settles and my vision is filled with off centered green and I vaguely notice that I'm lying on my stomach, cheek stuck to the floor with tears and spit. I open my mouth, intending to ask how he is, where we are, where Safiya and Alecto are, but all that comes out is a raspy, aching cough that sends spiking convulsions through me.  
  
 

He hunches nearer, sitting on his knees, and hovering just out of reach, his hand paused in midair with a look of trepidation and heartache. "What'd I say?" He tries for a smile but it's forced and obviously fake at best. "Just lie still."  
  
 

"S-fa?" I gasp out, trying to still the coughing fit that wants to rake through me again.  
  
 

His expression hardens in a flash, eyes narrowed and flickering to the door before focusing back on me. "Their gone for now. Said they had a surprise for us." There's ash on his thigh, little gray flakes that I can't stop staring at, three cigarettes smoked down to the filter littered by his knees. It makes me wonder how long they've been gone and how long I've been passed out for.  
  
 

"Followed me?" I ask, glad when the words come out whole but grimacing at the feeling of sandpaper running over tender unhealed nerves.  
  
 

He runs a hand through his hair and shifts until he's sitting cross legged. He looks haggard, exhausted, deep circles under his eyes and lines of worry and rage etched on his face, polluting his green irises - my fingers twitching against the ground at the sight. "Sort of."  
  
 

"And that means?" I probe, trying and failing to pry myself off the ground, my cheek still stuck in place, even my dry, chapped lips barely moving enough to form words. My eyelids threaten to slide closed again, bringing blissful sleep with it.  
  
 

"Close your eyes, get some rest." He whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.” His tone is quiet with a hard edge that accompanies the softness, his hand closing roughly over his thigh as I lose the battle, his form blinking from sight.  
  
 

Somewhere in the back of my mind I drift off with the vague realization that he's wearing two different pairs of shoes on his feet.  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
"Now then, let's get started shall we?"  
  
 

A spell hits me square in the chest, pulling me from unconsciousness and back into the real world with a thundering pulse and loud gasp. I feel tethered with a pumping energy that isn't mine but that's weaving itself through me with unnatural force. The air I suck rapidly in through my nose stings with each inhale as I slowly form the world back around me.  
  
 

Madame Safiya is standing in front of me, toying with a long silver chain with a dangling pendant between her fingers, smiling at me with her plump red lips.  
  
 

Alecto is off to the side, glaring death at Harry, dressed in ill-fitting robes that are different from the last time I looked upon her. I haven't heard her speak, not once. She's just frowned and grinned and flourished her wand but never with a single utterance. It's odd for her, her voice a dull sort of crackle that's a near perfect contrast to Bella's. She used to love to hear herself talk, going on and on about the filth and disease infested rodents muggles were.  
  
 

Which leaves me to wonder...Safiya must be a witch or at least of a magical background otherwise Alecto wouldn't have anything to do with her - I don't believe she would even if it meant capturing me and the Dark Lords, as well as her brothers, murderer. So the question is...what is she exactly? A squib, the disgraced cousin of the Carrow family? A witch who’s so immersed herself in this empire she's built that she sees little need for magic? That seems unlikely. But then...what?  
  
 

Then there was the smoke in the room when I came to see her. Obviously drugged, a potent release of some potion that ate away at my mental ability to function as well as severing all ability to even stand correctly. But she was in the room with me, in there longer than me even, and yet she escaped its effects. Perhaps she drunk an antidote, perhaps it was brewed only to affect me, but either way it was brewed. Magically. I'm near certain of that now.  
  
 

With a little shake of my throbbing head, I tear my gaze away from them. I feel like my brain is running in circles on hyper-speed, the spell she hit me with to rejuvenate me making me feel like I've let a dose of Speed slip down my throat. I need to slow myself, to steady my thoughts.  
  
 

Harry is still within his circle, standing with his arms firmly flexed by his sides. He looks uninjured, unmoved, his attire rumpled but otherwise the same as when I left him at my flat. With a quick downward glance, I let out a relieved breath as I see my ring still snug upon his finger. When my gaze travels back up it's to find him watching me out of the corner of one eye while he keeps the other fixed on our captures, like the true warrior he is.  
  
 

"Okay?" He mouths, his lone eye roving in a spectacular imitation of Mad-Eye Moody, the crazy sod.  
  
 

Okay? I feel like snorting, like screaming, like slapping myself about the head, because everything is so very far from okay - but instead I nod, flashing him a tight smile that's more painful than I thought a smile could be.  
  
 

I am sitting, tied to a chair once more. But at least the blindfold and shackles are gone. I hurt over every inch of my body but otherwise I feel intact, the darkness inside present but subdued like a raging monster chained back by rusting manacles.  
  
 

"Welcome back Mr. Malfoy, did you enjoy your reunion with your former teacher?"  Safiya takes in the whole of me with her gaze and I feel utterly exposed - my head nearly hanging, strands of hair in my eyes, unable to construct any sort of mask to hide myself behind, my forehead wet with sweat and eyes red with dried salt.  
  
 

She can see it all. She can see my pain, my fear, my sickness. She can see it and she smiles, my heaving breaths and unguarded eyes giving away what she's apparently known all along. I am her tool just like I refused to believe. But I am, just more than I ever could have imagined.  
  
 

"Still playing the same tricks I see." I direct at Alecto, embracing the torn, scratchy quality of my voice and flinging it out with venom. "Though I'd love it if you'd enlighten me about something."  
  
 

"And that is?" Safiya asks as Alecto's face burns red, her hand tightening on her wand.  
  
 

And that seals it. She hasn't spoken because she can't, I wonder how that happened. That could be useful.  
  
 

With a bored swing of my head, I look back at the Madame, giving her a toothy smile that's so uncharacteristic on my face - and that must look positively deranged on my tattered being - that she nearly frowns at it, catching herself at just the last second before her lips can do more than twitch downward. The small action enough to justify the immense pain the expression caused.

 

"Are you just a pathetic squib? Or are you just so ghastly terrible at magic that you've been forced to join the muggle race?"  
  
 

Harry coughs at my side and I hear Alecto shift her footing but I don't pay them any heed as I watch the minute reactions play across Safiya's face. She takes a single step forward, tilting her head, dropping the necklace to dangle from a single finger, and then...smiles. She looks far too pleased. "So clever Mr. Malfoy, as always. Alas this time you're wrong on both counts."  
  
 

"Oh?" Sickness speeds through my stomach as the rejuvenation spell starts settling, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy once more - the turnabout so sudden and quick it leaves me light headed for a moment.  
  
 

"They took your wand." Harry says quietly, in his low deep rumble of strength pulled in and waiting. "Didn't they?"  
  
 

Safiya eyes him with her piercing gaze, her jaw tightening for a brief moment before the smooth angles appear once more. "Snapped it actually, like it was nothing more than a twig."  
  
 

"When?" I ask, looking between the two of them, wondering how Harry drew that conclusion so fast but then again maybe if my brain was functioning properly it wouldn't seem so out of the box. It's actually the only real explanation that makes any sense.  
  
 

She waves a finger at me, timed in its movements to somehow seem condescending. "When is not important, only why dear."  
  
 

"Then why?" I'm not sure if it's Harry or me that voices the question she lays before us but it's out there and Safiya draws three long, blood red nails up the creamy skin of her left forearm as she steps towards me.  
  
 

"I'm unmarked, unlike you. I'm not marred by the snake and skull, haven't bowed to a master." She says quietly, firmly, a fire glowing in her blue pools of ice.  
  
 

"Evil all by yourself?" Harry drags a hand through his mangled locks, eyeing her carefully as she comes ever closer to my bound self.  
  
 

She grins and chuckles in his direction, no doubt finding great amusement in his obvious anger. "Evils such an ambiguous term."  
  
 

"Not really, it's pretty straight forward actually."  
  
 

"Agree to disagree then Mr. Potter?" She inclines her head in a small nod before pressing on. "The details are just that, old details. Unimportant. What matters is that the people in power saw me as a threat but they didn't want to simply eliminate me as swiftly as possible. They didn't ship me off to Azkaban after stealing my wand for themselves to be so cruelly snuffed beneath their heel. They wanted to make an example out of me." She pauses, leaning forward to run a hand through my sweat slicked locks, forcing my head back, and eyes to lock on hers.  
  
 

For the first time I've looked upon her I can see ghosts in her gaze, an unhinged power tingling in her fingertips. She seems small and larger than life all at once. It's unnerving.  
  
 

"Experimental, unstable, volatile, dangerous, not recommend for human use. Those are the words that branded the kind of punishment they had in mind. Needless to say when they were done it wouldn't have mattered if they had destroyed my wand or not." Her hand clenches through my hair, painfully yanking on the strands. "They reduced me to nothing more than a squib in essence. Drained my magic until I couldn't even light a damn candle without the use of matches." She lets go of me with a sudden jerk that has my chair rocking dangerously for a moment before it stills again, her glowering form rounding on Harry. "They tried to extinguish me in the filth of muggles. But I've risen above it. I am rich. I am powerful. I am the fucking Queen."  
  
 

"Right." Harry deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest. "And as Queen you decided you needed to kidnap two wizards to...what exactly? Bow to you? Make you feel like you aren't a piece of worthless shite?"  
  
 

Her hand shoots out in a blur, straight towards Harry, nearly scratching across his cheek. But in a movement that is hidden in a blink, her wrist is suddenly bending back, caught in his grip, inches from his face, his eyes glowing and hair nearly standing on end with the power rising off him. I draw in a breath at the sight, knowing perfectly well how powerful he is, how quickly he can tap into without even thinking about it.  
  
 

But knowing it and experiencing it again are two very different things. His magic crackles and sparks, Safiya's eyes widening, wrist bent at a horrible angle, Harry's mouth a hard line. She doesn't move her gaze from his, a silent war waging between them for a beat that sucks all the air out of the room before she smiles slowly, raising a single eyebrow.  
  
 

"Impressive." She licks her bottom lip and glances with a purposeful slide of her eyes at Alecto, who's hovering nearer now. "Let go now."  
  
 

"Or I could pull you in." He threatens, cocking his own eyebrow in mimic of hers, his foot tapping just inside the edge of his circle.  
  
 

"You could." She doesn't look afraid even though Harry's look could probably kill a lesser soul just by gazing at him. "But I don't think you will. Not unless you’re eager to see your lover strung up again."  
  
 

Harry's jaw tenses, his shoulders snapping back, eyes hard and narrowing in a manner that makes me squirm in my seat. I wouldn't be surprised if she burst into flames any second now. But she doesn't and with a growl he lets go of her wrist, taking a small step back, my stomach sinking as he does so.  
  
 

That was the closest chance we've had. And if I wasn't sure of it before, I am now - he can't leave his circle, and judging by the unbalanced and unfocused power he was emitting, possibly can't even preform magic inside it. Glancing down, I study the oily outline with its shades of gray and rust and green, the memory of the tangy scent of blood resurfacing.  
  
 

That's it. That's what she wanted his blood for, for this, his own little prison. She's had this planned out all along. Just like the smoke that was made just for me, that trapped me, the circle was made just for him, nullifying him as a threat during whatever she plans to do.  
  
 

Safiya holds all the trump cards and we hold none.  
  
 

"As I thought." She rubs delicately at her wrist, staying where she is, taunting him with her close proximity. "As I was saying. I've become more than they ever dreamed possible but I can't rest, can't fully enjoy it until their groveling at my feet, begging my forgiveness, screaming in agony as I did. And the stars have smiled on me. They brought me my cousin, distraught over her brother’s death...truly grisly Mr. Potter, are you certain you’re a sainted hero?"  
  
 

"He was a monster." Harry hisses, his hands clenched at his sides once more.  
  
 

"Of course he was." Safiya shrugs an uncaring shoulder. "But that's not the point. Hero's aren't supposed to break bodies like that. Saviors aren't supposed to slice wide, sputtering smiles across people's throats, and leave them to die a slow, terrible death."  
  
 

"Be thankful it was so kind." He looks deadly serious, a shiver running down my spine at the truth in his words, the images they conjure so horrific with his face plastered to it that I have to glance away.  
  
 

Alecto lets out a growl that sounds more like a gurgle as she lunges forward, flicking her wand and dropping Harry where he stands, his knees crashing to the ground as his eyes screw shut, mouth firm against a cry. There's a spasm between his shoulder blades as Alecto stands over him with her wand out, a sweat breaking across my already sticky forehead as I watch him fight against the curse.  
  
 

I may have shouted, may have cursed, may have pleaded. I don't know because for the brief and yet eternity long moment she holds him under its torturous effects, all I can hear is his labored breathing, all I can see his eyes so deadly dark and blinking. When she finally releases him and he sucks in a sharp, long breath, I nearly collapse in relief, may actually have if I wasn't tied down.  
  
 

"Best remember whose company you’re in." Safiya stills Alecto from casting another curse with a hand placed delicately over hers as Harry sits back on his heels, glaring up at them with defiance. "Now would you like to hear the rest of my story or should I skip straight to the punch line? Truth be told I'm perfectly content with both."  
  
 

I have a feeling the punch line will spell my ending, so with great difficulty, I tear my gaze from Harry's heaving form and latch them onto Safiya. "You knew it was me all along?" I ask, drawing her attention back towards me.  
  
 

"Indeed I did. Draco Malfoy, Lucius’ disaster of a son. Such a disappointment, never did seem like you'd amount to much. But then, there you were, fighting in those barely legal rings, spitting blood and bruising your once dainty knuckles. Such a change, such...stamina. You had fire and I love fire." She's toying with the long silver chain again, letting it swing like a pendulum.  
  
 

"Why didn't you say something?" I watch it rise and fall, rise and fall, trying to catch a steady glimpse of the pendent on the end. I don't know why but it seems important, the blurry swing of silver refusing to come into focus.  
  
 

"Because you weren't burning yet dear and I wanted you burning." She gazes somewhere over my shoulder. "I had such plans but...Alecto told me a very intriguing story one night. She spoke of a boy who could end my pain and pave my way to ultimate fulfillment." She nearly steps on my toes as she leans down over me, hands gripping my own where their tied to the armrests. "And imagine, here he was, already mine, just waiting to catch fire."  
  
 

"I can give you nothing." I try not to look away, try to keep steady in her gaze that's peeling me apart as I sink further and further away, my breath catching.  
  
 

"Ah but you can and you know it, don't you?" She runs her hands up my arms and I squirm, wishing to fling myself away from her touch, a touch that suddenly makes so much more sense than it ever has before. "You can be my salvation. You can lift me high, rain down my judgment. You can place me where I rightfully belong and take it back from those who don't deserve it."  
  
 

"That's not me."  
  
 

She smiles and curls her hands over my chest, feeling the thump, thump, thump of my heart and humming along with it. "Perhaps not yet but soon."  
  
 

"No."  
  
 

She searches my face and shakes her head. "Still in denial or perhaps..." she glances at Harry and smiles. “Oh yes, that's it, isn't it? You haven't told him."  
  
 

"Told me what?" Harry bursts out and I know I should look over and reassure him but I can't - can't look away from her.  
  
 

"You're wrong. It's not true." I whisper, trying to convince myself in the process. Such an old argument and somehow it all ends up back here, no matter how far or fast I run from it.  
  
 

"Now you don't believe that, I can tell you don't." Her fingers work the buttons on my shirt, slipping them free from their confining holes. "The Dark Lord Mr. Potter, how many times did he split his soul?" She asks softly, never looking away from me, the rush of blood in my ears threatening to drown out Harry's answer.  
  
 

"Seven." He says after only a moment’s hesitation.  
  
 

"I see and you killed them all?" Another button pops free and I can feel the hot air brush against my exposed flesh.  
  
 

"Yes." He answers and her grin grows.  
  
 

"Are you sure?" Safiya pauses above my navel, pushing the fabric of my shirt wide.  
  
 

"Of course I'm sure." Harry answers and I slip my eyes shut against my own will but I can't watch, wishing only that the rushing would fill my ears so fully that I couldn't hear them at all, no matter how faintly. "What the hell is this about?"  
  
 

Safiya pulls a piece of midnight black charcoal from between her breasts, holding it aloft for a moment before pressing the scratchy tip over my chest, drawing her hand down and over in an intricate loop. "Why don’t you tell him Draco, tell him all about who you are?" She's drawing ancient runes, I know she is, even if I can't fully comprehend it.  
  
 

But it has me nearly hyperventilating in panic, terrified of the certainty in the way her fingers and wrist curves and bends, stroking back and forth. She knows what she's doing. It's been years since I've been in this position and while I've been running, apparently they've been searching, looking for just the right method to bring my doom about.  
  
 

It was foolish to think they'd stop looking. It was foolish to think that time was enough to prove my safety. Foolish to believe that I could keep it hidden away forever, tempered, and leashed.  
  
 

"I know who he is." Harry hisses and I can't help but be reminded of our conversation in the kitchen all those days ago, how he swore he knew me, that whatever Amycus and Bella had tried to convince me of was wrong - that his version of my soul was the right one. I stopped fighting him on it, let myself melt into him, but it's time to resurface, time to watch his eyes cloud over with horror, time to lose him forever.  
  
 

Time to bring back his nightmare.  
  
 

Because he needs to stop looking at me through rose colored glasses, the tint of which I know I'm partially responsible for. He needs to be prepared. He needs to let loose his fire and prepare for battle. He needs to be a savoir again.  
  
 

"Tell him." Safiya repeats and I look up and meet her eyes, wondering if she possibly knows what she's toying with.  
  
 

"Harry." I say, my voice unearthly steady and calm despite the storm inside. "You didn't destroy all the horcruxes."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovely readers that was a difficult chapter to write! I know the first half was probably a bit confusing but it was supposed to be, kind of trying to tap into the disoriented feeling that Draco was under. Hopefully it came out well though and you enjoyed it 
> 
> Next chapter is the very last flashback and then there’s just a couple more chapters to go and we’re done!


	23. Pulling Puzzles Apart

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_"Harry!" My feet slip, my heels flying out in front of me as I slide down the hill, Harry's raven hair dancing in and out of the white landscape before me._  
  
  
 

 _The air vibrates with another splintering curse, my head ducking just in time to miss the bright shots of red. I curse, my back smacking into the ground as I scramble for purchase on the slippery slope. There's confusion all around, a mess of Death Eaters and the near constant pop, pop of Order members and others on the side of the light appearing around every tree - peppering the forest with an array of dark colors and bright bursts of magic._  
  
  
 

 _How the fuck did they all get here?_  
  
  
 

 _It's like there was a damn invitation, proclaiming the ending battle happening here and now in fucking Albania. Just no one seemed fit to tell any of us, if they had, well then - perhaps Harry and I wouldn't have been taken by surprise with our pants around our ankles so to speak. Not exactly the way you want to enter a battle - stumbling around for your clothes that your boyfriend had vanished and had to quickly call back while he was trying to get dressed himself._  
  
  
 

 _"Damn it Harry, stop!" I shout, feeling my leg catch painfully on a branch, slashing through my jeans and skin alike as I stumble to my feet and take off at a run after him._  
  


_He's not thinking straight. I can tell he's not, he's running blindly, sprinting headlong into his confrontation with the Dark Lord. And I know it's inevitable, that Harry is going to have to face off with him to end this but still...he needs to stop, he needs to breathe, we need to strategize. Neutralize any unnecessary threats before he bursts into the goddamn center of the Death Eaters._  
  


_That's a fast and sure way to meet his death._  
  
  
 

 _Grasping a trunk of a tree and swinging myself down a little ledge I knock right into a faceless witch in the black robes and skull masks that are the things of my nightmares. I curse as we both scramble for balance, my hand grasping my wand and flourishing it in mindless flicks and twists, words falling from my mouth on instinct until she's shooting backwards, her back cracking into a nearby tree with a thunk that snaps her neck back._  
  
  
 

_Without a spared glance in her direction I whip around and take up my run again, looking left and right, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Harry's stormy head. "Shit." I curse, panic gripping my heart as all I see for miles is snow and trees and faces of countless others - but never him._

 

 _I've lost him. Oh god I've bloody lost him, I..._  
  
  
 

 _What the hell?_  
  
  
 

 _It feels something akin to smacking into an invisible wall, all the air forced out of my lungs on a long exhale as I stare through the trees and up. I blink and it's still there, a starry, nearly transparent orb hovering in the air several yards away, just barely visible at this distance. But what's inside is unmistakable, I would know her anywhere, the green tinted skin of the Dark Lords beloved pet, Nagini. The shudder that passes along my spine is instant, a fear coiling in my body at just the little glimpse of the suspended snake held captive in the pearly orb._  
  
  
 

 _Merlin I hate that snake._  
  
  
 

 _But there's something off, something strange about her position. She's normally at the Dark Lords feet, killing her fill more swiftly and deadly then any of his followers could hope to achieve. Devouring her victims, feeding on their shrieks, and stretching her enormous belly around their lifeless bodies. There's a spark of green and red, a shower of magic bouncing off the shimmering orb and it all clicks into place. "It's protective." I mutter, thinking quickly._  
  
  
 

 _The Dark Lord loves nothing, he likes his snake, but he loves nothing. He would never waste his energy on something unless it benefited him greatly in some way._  
  
  
 

 _Bloody hell, we miscalculated._  
  
  
 

 _It was a stupid oversight but now it seems so glaringly obvious. It's the bloody snake, we need to kill her. SHE is the last horcrux. Not the diadem. Which means..._  
  
  
 

 _"Harry." I whisper, fear and urgency seizing me anew as I burst forward, ducking curses and firing my own while never ceasing my roving eye. I need to get to him before he finds the Dark Lord, before he tries to kill him and finds out too late his enemy has not yet been made mortal. I'm so busy in my searching I barely notice the wizard to my left, the pain stringing up through my legs and making my knees crash into the ground barely registering as I struggle against the hex._  
  
  
 

 _Jerking through the magic that's trying to keep me down, I stagger and point my wand, the tip wavering in a mimic of my feet and I can't lock onto the man whose barely visible face is transforming into a malicious grin._  
  
  
 

 _"Draco Malfoy, the others will be so disappointed I got to you first." The voice terribly familiar in its snippy drawl, a voice that’s been a part of my childhood and adolescence alike._  
  
  
 

 _The beginning of the killing curse is on his lips, I'm sure it is, it forms a strange curve of the mouth and tongue and sparks a horrible glint in the casters eye every time. I've seen it before. I always used to look away from it, finding it disconcerting to stare into a man’s face as he committed murder, to watch the spark that lights and dies, dulling the eyes a little more each time. But I can't look away this time as I try to force my hand still while at the same time trying to fling myself out of harm’s way._  
  
  
 

 _Neither work._  
  
  
 

 _But with a roar from behind me, the sound of which I swore I'd never hear, the wizard is shrieking and clutching his side, stumbling for a moment before he goes stiff as a board and falls hard to the ground._  
  
  
 

 _I twist around as use of my body comes back under my control, my eyes widening as a hand clasps around my arm and practically hauls me to my feet. "Longbott-oompph." I begin, trying to figure out if the figure of Neville Longbottom is really standing before me with a grin and a sweaty forehead when there's a sudden mass of blond hair in my face and arms wrapped tightly around me._  
  
  
 

 _She smells like three different perfume bottles exploded all over her._  
  
  
 

 _"Draco, you're looking unwell." Luna Lovegood pulls back from me, somehow still wearing her misty smile and glazed expression even with a pool of blood on the corner of her mouth. "Your aura is looking a bit sickly."_  
  
  
 

 _"How-?" I still my madly beating heart as best I can while staring at the most unlikely couple you'd ever expect to meet in the middle of this forest._  
  
  
 

 _"Came with the Order. Didn't think we'd miss it did you?" Longbottom raises his arm and sends a curse flying over my head as I try to connect the unspoken parts of his explanation. "Seems we made it just in time."_  
  
  
 

 _"Right...look." I mutter, keeping Nagini in the corner of my eye and pointing over at her. "I have to find Harry but the snake, it's really important, I need you to -"_  
  
  
 

 _"Kill it?" He supplies for me with a savage grin._  
  
  
 

 _"Yes but there's more to it, where's Granger? Damn it, just find her and then-"_  
  
  
 

 _"Kill the snake. Right, got it, make it good and dead." He interrupts me again and I frown, barely managing to keep my feet from running away on my mission. But finding Harry will accomplish nothing if the snake doesn’t die._  
  
  
 

 _"First you have to get it out of the protective cage and then -"_  
  

  
  
_"Kill it." Longbottom bounces on his heels, looking positively giddy. Good lord, war apparently is doing him some good. "Seriously I got it, just go find Harry." And with that he and Lovegood are running off...in the opposite direction of the snake._  
  
  


_Fuck._  
  
  
 

 _But I don't have time to think on it, instead I place my trust in the capabilities of Gryffindor’s most famously nervous and useless member and Ravenclaw’s most mental, before turning and pounding through the snow once more. With a sudden dawning of enlightenment, I shift my direction just slightly, unsure why I didn't think of it before._  
  
  
 

 _The Dark Lord won't be too far from Nagini, if I skirt her radius, I should find him - hopefully running into Harry before the black haired boy faces off with him._  
  

  
_I just hope I get there in time._  
  
  
 

 _I swallow nervously and press onward, ignoring the burn in my lungs and the fire in my legs, flinging out curses, swerving out of others paths and keeping one eye out on a constant search for Harry. The trek takes too long, barely missing sudden appearances of trees and doing my best to avoid any conflict that will take too long, but then I'm standing on the bank of a river, my chest heaving, sucking in the frigid air - and there he is._  
  
  
 

 _Harry's on the other side, his feet planted, his back straight with shoulders held taut, his wand held out in front of him. He's facing the Dark Lord, neither of them moving, just staring at each other, talking._  
  
  
 

 _But I can't hear what their saying, or rather what the Dark Lord is saying because Harry is unnaturally still and I'm sure if I could see his face that it would be clenched into a firmly set glare. Silence on Harry can only mean one thing._  
  
  
 

 _With a quick glance over to the left and upward, I see Nagini's cage still hanging in the air, the snake unharmed. But there's a stream of blue spreading upwards towards it and I can only hope that it's Longbottom - that he's figured out a way to get her down, hopefully with Granger or Weasley at his side. Resolving to leave it to them, there's nothing I can do from over here anyway, and keeping Harry alive is of the highest priority, I swing my gaze back to the standoff on the opposite shore._  
  
  
 

 _They haven't moved._  
  
  
 

 _I can't decide if that's good or bad. Either way I need to get to them and quickly. Looking up and down the river, searching for a way across, my hopes get smashed to the ground as all I see is thin, frozen water stretching for as far as I can see - no break in its winding presence, not even a damn fallen tree to shimmy over._  
  
  
 

_Looking up at the surrounding trees, I briefly consider felling one to make a bridge but quickly push the thought aside. There's no guarantee it will work and there's a high probability that it will draw Harry's attention, if only for a second, giving the Dark Lord a chance to gain the upper hand. And I’m too wound up and jittery to Apparate, I know myself, I could very well end up under the ice, too far away, or right in the middle of them. It’s too risky._

_That leaves..._  
  
  
 

 _I eye the frozen expanse dubiously, the ice so thin in places I can see the water sitting cold and threatening underneath, just waiting to crack. But there's no other choice. With a deep, calming breath I cast a quick lightening charm on myself, hoping it will be enough, and place a tentative foot on the ice._  
  
  
 

 _It creaks._  
  
  
 

 _"Just bloody hold you damn river." I grumble, giving myself all but a moment to collect myself before shifting my entire weight onto my forward foot and sliding my other boot onto the ice._  
  
  
 

 _It's terribly slippery and I find my feet sliding out and forward nearly as much as I manage to take a proper step, the journey is slow going but at least the ice is holding. I'm over halfway across when my footing gives, my body slipping back as the ice creaks and shifts, wobbling beneath me and then with a loud, deafening crack in my ears, it shatters under my feet - a gasp of air filling my lungs seconds before I'm plunging downward._  
  
  
 

 _It shocks my system immediately, the rushing ice cold water surging past me as I sink, everything inside me freezing and refusing to move - my heart unnaturally still in my chest._  
  
  
  

_I see the frozen water above me, glittering in the blue rays and reflection of the light beyond, I see the crack I fell through, hundreds of tiny sparkling shards of ice. My wand is still wrapped in my stiff jointed fingers, the hood of my jacket lifting to float about my head, blinking out the light above me to cast me in darkness._  
  
  
 

 _I panic._  
  
  
 

 _The shifting of light, there and gone, there and gone, grips me with fear tighter then the icy water and potential of drowning had moments ago. It lights a spark in my mind to MOVE. My legs kick out under me, my heavy arms laden down with my thick jacket moving in downward pushes as the need for air stings my lungs._  
  

  
_I'm moving too slowly, my body sinking faster than I can kick upwards, my frozen limbs refusing to move fast enough in the arctic water. All ability to think clearly is slowly blinking from existence and with one last desperate effort, I straighten my arm, pointing my wand to the light beyond and shout through a choking flood of water, "ASCENDIO!"_  
  
 

  
_Magic propels me upward, my head crashing through a thick layer of ice, cutting across my cheeks with tiny, razor thin slices, my arms flying out to connect with the sodden ground before me. I grip and hold as the weight of my drenched body threatens to slip back under again - gasping in air and resting my cheek against the snow and winding roots._  
  

  
_I feel lightheaded and dizzy, a violent shiver raking through me as I try to replenish my body with oxygen. But the longer I lay against the bank, shaking with most my body still underwater, it only gets worse not better. Remembering that I have precious few minutes, I may already be too late, I grit my teeth and pull - dragging myself up and out of the water and onto the river’s edge._  
  
  
 

 _Getting to my feet is harder then I imagined and I stumble a few steps before I regain my balance, shrugging out of my jacket that feels like I'm wearing a blanket of ice - and after trying to cast enough warming and drying charms on myself, the cold still not leaving my bones, I quickly kick my boots with their own little lake inside off as well, seeing as their only making it more difficult for me to move around._  


  
  
_I feel like a popsicle, standing in my socks and soaked trousers, my shirt clinging like a second skin to my body, my hair alternately dripping in my face and freezing into little icicles._  
  
  
 

 _It will be miracle if I don't keel over from hypothermia now._  
  
  
 

 _There's a cry that has my head snapping up and my feet running, my heart stopping as Harry's body crumbles before me, hitting the ground with a muted thud, his hand with his wand falling boneless by his head. I blink and shake my head and blink again but the vision never changes, he's still on the ground, unmoving, and I feel something shatter inside me._  
  
  
 

 _Something that feels shockingly like my heart._  
  
  
 

 _"Harry!" I shriek, picking up my pace and stumbling as I force my frozen self at such a speed. But he can't be dead. He can't. He doesn't die. He wins. He lives. He has to live!_  
  
  
 

 _I'm nearly close enough to reach out and touch him, his vibrant eyes closed, lashes dusting his too pale face, when there's a crackle in the air and I feel myself flying backwards._  
  
  
 

 _"Oh isn't this fun? Little Draco running to his poor dead master." Bella's voice rings in my ears even before I can readjust my vision to see her looming above me - twirling her long wand in her hand, her thick curly hair obscuring her crazed face. "Picked the wrong side, didn't you, you little blood traitor."_  
  
  
 

 _Flinging up to my feet, I shake my head, trying to displace what feels like long threads of ice curling through me, Bella's voice repeating 'dead' over and over again in my brain._  
  

  
  
_"Oh dear." Bella grins with a tsk. "Is ittle Draco distraught?"_  


  
  
_Forcing myself to stare straight ahead at her and not over at Harry's prone form, I clench my wand. "I'm not a traitor and he's not my master."_  
  

  
_Bella laughs. "But he is, but he is! You simply traded one for the other, you poor delusional boy, and what a despicable trade it was."_  
  

  
  
_It's a split second decision, the curse forming on my lips as she laughs her crackling laugh and pouts a protruding lip, "Sectumsempra!" I scream, wanting to see blood coloring her black dress, to see it flow across her flesh, to prove her humanity._

 

 _I feel dark in this moment, frozen not just in mind and body but in spirit._  
  
  
 

 _Her shield charm is fast, cutting away the most powerful portions of my spell as her body simultaneously twists - her voice shrieking with rage as three long, deep cuts form not on her chest as intended but along her arm._  
  
  
 

 _"You little shit!" She hollers, flinging curses at me and battling my own away as we move across the snowcapped ground. "Filthy blood traitor, you've spoiled yourself, you're nothing now!" She's snapping with rage and I feel myself meeting her on that level, a thumping in my chest that seems to pound with her cracking spells and growing with my bursting magic._  
  

  
_Then there's a movement in the corner of my eye and feeling as if I've been plunged under the ice once more, I see Harry twitching on the ground - his arm lifting only to fall back down. I can’t take my eyes off him – willing him to move again, to get up – as I shout whatever curses come to mind until Bella is bursting backwards, the action happening in slow motion as I feel my own body light with a fire as her spell hits me in the same moment._  
  
  
 

 _There's something tearing inside me. Ripping down my center, forcing me to cough violently, shuddering as my hands and knees find themselves against the ground, the snow sprinkling with specks of crimson with each cough. Pressing a hand against my stomach when the convulsions lesson just a fraction, I roll to my feet, spitting blood out of my mouth as I fix my sights on Harry once more._  
  
  
 

 _He's getting to his feet._  
  
  
 

 _He's alive and he's standing!_  
  
  
 

 _The Dark Lord lets a cry of rage, spewing sickening words from his slicked skinned mouth. Wrapping both arms around my middle as if the movement will keep my insides from exploding like they seem bent on doing, I frantically look back towards where Nagini has been hovering in the air._  
  
  
 

 _The orb isn't there. The sky is empty and I let out a laugh of pure relief, the sound quickly turning into another violent bout of coughing. Bloody Longbottom, I can only hope he's also managed to kill her. Have to believe he has because it's just the three of us in the vicinity now, Bella unconscious on the ground a few feet away._  
  
  
 

 _My vision swims as I try to stay standing, only to find myself suddenly back on the ground, a gray and blue sky spreading out before me. It's rather beautiful. No darkness. No shadows. It's light._  
  
  
 

_All I can see is light and Harry will win and live. With a numbing warmth spreading through my toes, I watch the snowflakes fall towards me, swirling down from white clouds that seem so perfect - too perfect to worry about the fact that numbness isn’t a good thing, that not feeling my toes and feet and nearly my whole leg is rather bad._

_There's a shout that sounds vaguely like Harry and then there's a warmth on my arm, tugging at me, obscuring my light._  
  
  
 

 _"Draco, come on, get up." Harry barks in my ear and I feel a solidness against my back as another burst of coughing rakes through me. His hand grasps mine, forcing my sluggish arm out sharply as I sag against his chest. "Hold on." He whispers to me before he's screaming out, command evident in his tone, magic buzzing off and around him, wrapping around me in a grateful heat._  
  
  
 

 _I sink in it, trying to stay conscious as something long and thin flies towards us, colliding with our joined hands. Then in a flurry of movement I find my own wand yanked away from my weak grasp as I struggle to follow just what the hell he's doing. But it doesn't really matter because a second later there's a burst of green light as Harry shouts the killing curse and I close my eyes with my head on his shoulder - unwilling to see the spark leave his eyes.  
  
  _  
 

 _There's a sound that can only be made when a soul is being ripped from this world, a sound that's deep and piercing and angry and fearful. It fills the wood for a moment before it's gone and all that's left is Harry's harsh panting at my back and my own shallow rasping._  
  
  
 

 _It's over._  
  

  
_Harry drops my hand and turns me in his arms, crushing me to him and dragging a hand through my icy hair. "We did it." He whispers with a shaking that seems to be releasing years of pent up emotions and energy._  
 

  
  
_"You did it." I correct softly._  
  
  
 

 _He laughs breathlessly, shaking his head before he presses a light kiss to my frozen lips that are no doubt a strange shade of blue by now. He pulls back with a frown, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip, the finger coming away red. "What happened?" He asks, seeming to notice my sodden and icicle state for the first time_  
  
  
 

 _"Had a run in with a river." I grumble, turning into his warmth and closing my eyes. Sleep sounds good. Sleep sounds...perfect. “I won.”_  
  

  
  
_"Draco, no, don't go to sleep." He shakes me a little and I groan with the pain it causes me._  
  
  
 

 _"Sleep." I murmur, finding the more I let myself be pulled down, the brighter everything gets. “‘S bright." I smile._  
 

  
  
_"God you're stubborn. Don't you dare, you hear me?" He sounds a bit panicked, the joyful breathlessness from moments ago vanished into thin air. "I will bring you back just to kill you again if you die on me now." He growls._  


  
  
_I let out a little laugh. "Gryffindor’s."_  
 

  
  
_"Yeah, you rant about Gryffindor’s okay, rant until you’re huffing and glaring and all indignant." He pauses, pressing a hand to my cheek. "You need a Healer. I'm gunna...got to find...wait here yeah?"_  
  
  
 

 _I nod. "Yeah."_  
  
  
 

 _"No sleeping." He commands and I nod again. "I mean it Draco, you have to stay awake."_  
  
  
 

 _"Now who’s being stubborn?" I try to smile but it only brings on another bout of coughing, Harry frowning deeply at me and squeezing me tighter. "Just go."_  
  
  
 

 _He nods, looking plainly worried and unwilling to let go of me. Pressing a kiss to my forehead he lowers me to the ground, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over me, his hand flicking until there's a warmth spreading under and over me. "I'll be right back and no-"_  
  
  
 

 _"Sleeping." I finish tiredly._  
  
  
 

 _"Right." He smiles and with one last long look where he abuses his bottom lip rather harshly, he turns around and runs away, shouting, "Don't move!"_  
  
  
 

 _"Not likely I even could." I grumble, letting my eyes slip shut as I huddle down into Harry's jacket. It smells like him, it's warm like him, and I do my best to stay away from the light that's beckoning me.  
  _  
  
 

 _"Draco."_  
  
  
 

 _My eyes snap back open at my hissed name to find Bella, bleeding and looking like she's completely lost all hold of reality, looming over me. With a twisted smile she grabs me before I can even blink and with a lurch, I find myself hurling through space, towards an unknown that can't possibly hold anything good._  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
Avoidance can only drag you through the gutter.

  
  
Lying to yourself can only work on a shallow level.

 

Denial can only last for so long.  
  
 

Speaking the words, for the first time, is like coming up for air, gasping for a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding for so many years. It's a putrid, rotting, monstrous admission that leaves me sick even as my lungs fill fully. But part of my worst fear just happened and there's something liberating in it, perhaps it's because there isn't much farther to fall, perhaps it's because Harry will be forced to acknowledge the corrupt, twisted version of my soul now.

  
  
I am bound with his enemy, threaded through with the man who took everything from him, I'm one with the monster that he lived to slay. And now he'll be torn once more. Torn between wanting to save me and eradicating the demented Dark Lord from existence once and for all.  
  
 

Safiya's black smeared hand is gripping my jaw, forcing me to face Harry as she chuckles darkly. "Good boy." She all but coos in my ear. "Admission is the first step after all." She taunts. "Now don't stop, tell him all of it. Tell him about the darkness that's eating you up inside, that's raging for freedom. Let him see just how filthy you truly are."  
  
 

"Draco." Harry says quietly, ignoring the Madame and staring straight into me as I try to flit away from his gaze. But he doesn't look horrified or disgusted or even surprised. He looks sad, worried, and desperate - which is somehow worse.  
  
 

"I don't think he believes you. Perhaps we'll need to convince him dear." Safiya mutters and my blood runs cold.  
  
 

"Look at me love." He says, without so much as a twitch in Safiya's direction, his voice so soft and tender it makes my heart squeeze painfully. Leave it to him to try and save me when he should be slaughtering me as quick as he can.  
  
 

"How sweet Mr. Potter. Still so keen on keeping him for yourself, even after hearing that he's nothing more than a vessel for our Lord."  
  
 

"You're not a vessel." He address me, Safiya's fingers twitching on my jaw - oh how she hates being ignored. "Voldemort is dead. He's not coming back."  
  
 

"But he is. You see it was Mr. Malfoy here who helped us see it. It was Bellatrix, was it not dear, who slipped into your memories, plucking through your scandalous affair and finding your hidden treasure." She asks as I stare at Harry's earlobe. "Go on, tell him about the diadem."  
  
 

That gets Harry's attention, the mention of the rare horcrux snapping his focus over to her for the first time since I spoke my awful secret. I can see the turmoil rise in him, can see him think back to how I had collapsed under its presence, to how I almost didn't make it through. To the anger and isolation and rejection I cast myself in from the moment I had my barring’s back. I know he remembers how I cringed from his touch, I know he's recalling how I wouldn't let him near until he forced himself on me, breaking through my barriers.  
  
 

I wonder if it's all making it click into place for him, if he's finally now just realizing the depth of my deception.  
  
 

"You couldn't stop it, could you Mr. Potter?" Safiya speaks, unwilling to wait for me to answer, or maybe she just likes to cast the words herself, drenching it all in drama. "You were weak in the face of the Dark Lords soul and you let it touch him, you let it ensnare him, and overtake him."  
  
 

"Wasn't his doing." I state at the same moment Harry breaths a soft 'no'.  
  
 

"But it was. You relied on Mr. Potter to save you, just like he saves everyone. But he didn't, he let you down, and you've been drowning ever since."  
  
 

I feel a spark of anger, a surge of protectiveness, needing to make sure Harry knows this isn't his fault - Merlin know he carries around enough guilt. "I can't be drowning and burning all at once." I spit, remembering how she stated that she was waiting for me to catch fire.  
  
 

"You and I both know far more unusual things have happened." She remarks, letting go of my face and straightening her back. "It’s the drowning that's made the fire burn so bright if you will."  
  
 

"You're not a horcrux." Harry states firmly and in a split second decision I let my eyes meet his - his pupils are dilated, darkness creeping through the green, a picture of strength and resolution. He's not going to let me go, he's not going to believe, his foot sliding dangerously close to the circle's outline as he holds my gaze trapped in his. "You're my heart." He says so very lowly, his hand reaching up to press over his chest, my ring on his finger catching the faint light of the room. "I know that wretched bit of soul tried to kill you or overtake you or whatever. But it didn't. Draco...it didn't. Voldemort is dead. He's fucking dead and you are...you, just you." He pleads with me and god do I want him to be right.  
  
 

But at the moment I can't tell left from right, just like I haven't been able to for years, ever since Bella first planted the idea in my head. Before she spoke those horrible words the darkness inside me was a nameless, faceless evil but not a ticking bomb of doom. I feel like I can't separate fact from fiction, like there's a truth somewhere but it's obscured by layers and layers and layers of lies and false memories and pain. I only know four things.  
  
 

First, that after the encounter with the diadem that I've been filled with an alien darkness.  
  
 

Second, that it's still inside me, waiting but silent, clouding my judgment at times and eerily still at others.  
  
 

Third, that after my time with Bella that I've truly embraced the horrific fact that I'm a horcrux in a sense. That there's a piece of his soul inside me, that he can be pulled out from the wreckage of my soul if it's broken in just the right way, that I can bring back Harry's misery.  
  
 

And fourth, that somehow, someway, for some completely daft and unexplainable reason, Harry still loves me. Which begs the question, how could he possibly if I was so infused, how could I touch him and not destroy him if his worst enemy was tainting me?  
  
 

I'm either very good at pretending or something isn't quite right. Perhaps Bella got it wrong, perhaps Safiya and Alecto got it wrong. Perhaps I'm tainted but I'm nothing more than a sickness, a symptom, and not the whole disease?  
  
 

But then perhaps that's just wishful thinking.  
  
 

Ah and there's the circle again, round fucking robin.  
  
 

"Please Draco, please believe me." Harry whispers and I swallow thickly, opening my mouth around words that I'm unsure of but that don't come out anyway. "Trust me."  
  
 

"That's touching, truly touching." Safiya flicks her hair and I feel like it's all winding down, the tick tick tick about to still in its chasing time. "But this is growing repetitive, rather tedious. So let's get started shall we?" She nods to Alecto who in turn moves towards the door, my spine snapping straight and pulse speeding.  
  
 

"Don't you fucking touch him." Harry bites out, his magic swelling through the air once more, bending and threatening, buzzing around the circle holding him captive.  
  
 

"I do believe that you're in no position to make demands." Safiya tosses him a smile over her shoulder as she flicks her wrist and adds one last little marking to the diagram sketched out across my chest. It burns as the charcoal settles and the black stick drops from her fingers with a smug expression on her face as it falls to the floor with a thin ding. "Last chance to cooperate." She mummers to me.  
  
 

I glare and set my jaw, her long suffering sigh filling the drastically still air before she straightens. "Have it your way. Alecto fetch Bellatrix won't you?"  
  
 

I feel the blood drain from my face at the mention of my Aunt, a faint 'I knew it' sounding off in my head. Even so, even with my knowledge that Bella wasn't far, hearing her name uttered in accordance with what's happening is like being submerged in a tub of ice and I feel instantly nauseous, blinking in quick succession to keep the vertigo from overtaking me where I sit.  
  
 

"But she's..." Harry exclaims and all I can do is shake my head.  
  
 

"Dead?" Safiya fills in for him, with a wicked chuckle. "Yes, luring you here Mr. Potter was shockingly easy compared to orchestrating her escape from that horrid place. It took much longer then we were expecting but it was rather a stroke of genius in the end. Of course she's a bit...damaged now, but then hasn't she always been dear?"  
  
 

"How-"  
  
 

"No, no Mr. Potter, the time for questions is up. Best say your goodbyes." With one last smile, she turns on her heel and follows Alecto out the door, the thick crack of it shutting behind her sharp in the quiet room.  
  
 

"Can you Disapparate?" I ask quietly, already sure of the answer but needing it verified anyway as I stare at the closed door. Who knows how long we have, seconds, minutes, hours...until my mind is no longer my own.  
  
 

"Draco-"  
  
 

"Can you?"  
  
 

"No." He murmurs. "I can barely do anything inside this damn circle without it backfiring." He sighs and pulls at his hair, glancing down at the smeared outline.  
  
 

"Whatever happens...don't let Him come back." I say quietly, fear for my own safety small and inconsequential compared to the threat of the Dark Lord returning. "They brought you here for a reason, it has to be more than just to watch, so when the opportunity comes don't hesitate just...end it."  
  
 

"I won't kill you." I can hear him shifting his feet, his voice pitched with so many things I can't piece my way through them.  
  
 

"I may not be me for very much longer. Don't let me be the catalyst for his return...please."  
  
 

Harry's quiet for a long moment and when he finally does speak it isn't what I was expecting in the least. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
 

"I tried, once." I look over at him, unprepared for the sight of his despair. "Right before the battle..."  
  
 

His green eyes cloud and he frowns. "You said you had something to tell me..." He says quietly, reliving those moments of intense tug a war. "You thought you were a horcrux even then?"  
  
 

I shake my head. "I didn't know, I just knew it had touched me."  
  
 

"That's why...that's why you tried to break it off? Because you thought you were ruined?" He closes his eyes and I wonder if he's watching the memory of our fight, reliving the harshness of our union. I wonder if he's disgusted at the thought of it now.  
  
 

"Yes and I was right, I'm sorry Harry." I swallow thickly and glance down at his hand, drawn over and over again to the sight of the Malfoy ring on his finger. It seems almost mocking now, naming him as my heart, and then basically dragging him into this mess. "I should have forced you out the moment you showed up."  
  
 

The laugh he lets out tingles through me, surprising me as I glance back up to his face. "You tried, god did you try and now it makes sense in a way. You think you're evil don't you?"  
  
 

"Yes." I breathe, confessing another layer of my dirty secret.  
  
 

"You think there's nothing worthy left of you?"  
  
 

"Yes."  
  
 

He narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw. "You hate yourself for being with me?"  
  
 

I can't look at him as I nod, squeezing my eyes shut, god it's all so fucked up. "Yes."  
  
 

He sucks in a loud breath, everything unearthly still around us. "Because you despise me or because you think you don't deserve it? Think you'll...ruin me?"  
  
 

"It's true isn't it? Just look where we are! How is this not negatively affecting you?!" I bite out, desperate for him to see and accept it, accept it with the very core of his being so he can do what he needs when the time comes.  
  
 

"You know what I think?" He asks, hard and stiff, demanding and quiet.  
  
 

"Harry-"  
  
 

"No, you're going to listen because apparently you haven't been listening to a damn thing I've been saying all this time." He snaps and I glance down at the circle around him - it's glowing a dark green and burnt red, that can't be a good sign. "You are not a fucking horcrux. You are not evil. You are not some damn tainted being who's going to turn me into something nasty just by touching me. You don't deserve this. You know how I know? Do you Draco?"  
  
 

"No." I say, eyeing the circle that's vibrating with the pulse of his rhythm, vaguely wondering if Safiya is listening at the door. Wouldn't put it past her, she's probably finding great humor in the whole thing.  
  
 

What he does next happens so fast my brain can hardly grasp onto it - there's a flash of gold in his hand, resting on the bent knuckle of his pointer finger for a second before it's flipping through the air, landing in my own palm, my fingers twisting and bending on their own to curl around the coin that looks shockingly similar to the one he gave me earlier. Then there's the horrible pull of being tugged through a tube too small to possibly fit through for all but a split second before I'm suddenly wobbling on my feet, warm arms around my back and a hot chest against my own.  
  
 

"How-" I blink down into Harry's face, dizzy and unable to process how I've just crossed the distance between us and how I'm no longer bound down to the chair. "How..." I repeat, my legs nearly giving out under me as I shake with the over taxation and exhaustion of my body.  
  
 

"Back then, before I killed Voldemort. Was I evil? Was I wretched and nasty? Did I infect you when you held and kissed me?" He's humming with energy and all I can do is stare open mouthed at him, my breath hitching with all the uncertainty of the moment.  
  
 

Just what is he getting at? "I don't..." I shake my head.  
  
 

"Was I?" He demands, shaking me a little in his grasp.  
  
 

"No!" I yelp, finding it all a little hard to hold onto, not with my muddled mind and torture spent body.  
  
 

"Damn fucking right!" He snaps. "And here's where your theory all falls apart because I was a bloody horcrux Draco, he made me into one the night he killed my parents. I was one nearly my whole life!"  
  
 

He's deadly serious, I can tell he is, I can hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes but that doesn't make any sense. "No, then how...what?!" I don't understand what he can possibly be saying. Because how could he possibly be a horcrux and if for some insane reason he was one then why would he think the Dark Lord was dead when Harry himself was still standing? He knows how horcruxes work, we both do, the Dark Lord couldn't die until they were all destroyed. So if Harry is sure he’s dead but also sure he himself was a horcrux then....just how did he come to that conclusion?  
  
 

And what did he mean by 'was'? How could he just stop being a horcrux?  
  
 

It's bloody insanity!  
  
 

"The day of the battle Draco, remember when I was unconscious? Remember that? We have a choice Draco, we have a choice to let the darkness win and kill us or we can destroy it and live our own damn lives!" Harry explains urgently, glancing repeatedly at the door like he's expecting it to burst open any minute, which it probably is.  
  
 

But I can't be bothered by that now as I try to fully comprehend what he's telling me. He was a horcrux but now he's not. He had a choice, he made a choice, and now he's free to be just him. But how is that possible? How did that work? And could it work for me? I never thought there was any actual way to get rid of the darkness inside without losing myself to it but maybe...maybe there is. If what Harry is saying is true, then he's living proof that there is.  
  
 

"So you believe me then? That I'm a horcrux?" I hear myself ask, unaware of even really thinking the question but for some reason needing to hear the answer.  
  
 

He shakes his head, holding me tighter to him. "No I don't, I think Bellatrix is insane and desperate and she made you believe it. I killed Voldemort. I saw him die, watched it avidly. But maybe...there's something. I believe you that there's a darkness, that it touched you. But you need to believe that you can overcome it. I know you can."  
  
 

"That's your heroic sense of obligation speaking." I murmur, trying to figure out if I believe him or not. It seems too good to be true, too hopeful in these dismal circumstances.    
  
 

"No." He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. "You've always thought you were weaker than you really are. You saved me Draco, in more ways than one but I don't know if I can save you from this if you don't want to be rescued." He puts it so simply, so cut and dry that it forces a calm into my whirling thoughts.  
  
 

Is that really what it comes down to? My own perception of myself? My own choice? Do I want to be saved or do I want to die as punishment for my sins?  
  
 

"Do you?" He whispers as I lift my hands to either side of his face, the skin of my wrists red and raw and speckled with dried and wet blood.  "Please say yes." He places his fingers lightly against my jaw, the touch sending little tingling sparks across my aching flesh.  
  
 

"I...I don't know how."  
  
 

Harry smiles tentatively as I slide my forehead up and down his in minuscule movements, seeking a contrasting feeling to the pain I've know these last few hours, or maybe days. "You fight."

 


	24. Watch Me Burn

 

Everything’s black again.  
  
 

I can feel a body hovering over my own, can feel the tickle of long coarse hair brushing across my face, feel the weight of my arms - stretched impossibly wide and bound to the floor, my legs spread eagle and stuck in place. The ground is hard and hot beneath me.  
  
 

Safiya was the one who had slipped the blindfold back in place after she had three of her men drag me back out of Harry's little circle of captivity. She had smiled and chuckled and told me how much I'm going to enjoy this next bit.

I'm rather sick of sarcasm.  
  
 

I got in a few sound punches and kicks before they managed to take me down, before the ropes of leather sprung up from nowhere and wound around my wrists, biceps, ankles, thighs, and even my neck - keeping me utterly still and trapped. Then there was a scratching across the floor for a good long time before the room stilled and I can't help but feel as if I've just been drawn into some sort of diagram - perhaps a match to the one on my chest, perhaps a polar opposite. I can't know, but I recognize the steadily increasing nausea.  
  
 

There's a panting blowing across my cheek, a smell that resembles a wet dog, and I feel my muscles flex against my bindings as I press the back of my head hard into the concrete.  
  
 

"Nice to see you again Bella." I say, breaking the silence that's been wrapping around us since the scratching dissipated.  
  
 

There's a low, maddened laugh that is so familiar it makes my stomach clench. "Dear, dear nephew." Bella grips my forearm, her breath hot and heavy against my ear as she leans down to speak. "Nice to see you remember your Aunty."  
  
 

"It would be a bit hard to forget, I confess." I grit, almost glad for the blindfold for once, unsure how seeing her face is going to affect me. Just feeling her so near and hearing her voice is making a storm rise within me.  
  
 

"Isn't that so. Some. Things. We. Never. Forget." She spits, punctuating each word harshly. "Now let's take a ittle, bitty, peek." She mutter's lowly, giving me a split second warning before she's pressing into my thoughts, my barriers weak against the sudden onslaught. My walls snap under her surge of magic and I feel myself flooding forward with memories - images, lines of disjointed conversations, and snapshots of my life over the years.  
  
 

She's flipping through them like a damn scrapbook and I feel too sick to even begin to put up a fight, to reconstruct some walls and try to push her out. She sees it all and it leaves me without air, hyperventilating against the side of her face.

 

She's been in my head so many times throughout my life, first while trying to help teach me Occlumency - uncovering my boyhood secrets that felt so shameful in my innocence - then the multitude of times while she held me captive. She feels almost second nature to me now, like my brain knows her presence and offers up the things she wants at will even though I'm desperately trying to tuck them away.  
  
 

The strap over my neck is cutting into my windpipe as I struggle for air but then she's pulling out with a satisfied chuckle and I sag back into the ground.  
  
 

"Can't hide from me little Draco." She says. "Such a disgusting mind you have," she pauses, pressing her fingers sharply into my temples like she's trying to crush the thoughts that appall her to dust. "The ring by the way. So sweet. So stupid." I can feel the air shift as she moves away, everything suddenly just a little bit colder.  
  
 

Her feet click and I can picture her black heeled boots perfectly in my mind, have listened to same click, tap, click, tap till I thought it would drive me into oblivion filled only with pain and torment.  
  
 

"Give it to me." Bella hisses and I hold my breath, knowing she's addressing Harry, demanding my family heirloom back.  
  
 

"Not a chance." Harry growls and god I wish I wasn't blinded by this damn strip of black cloth.  
  
 

"Now, you filthy half-blood!" She roars, spitting her words out with a rage that's so close to breaking completely. Safiya was right, she isn't in control of herself. I can tell that much just by the way she's speaking, not that the words are anything new, I've heard her say them a million times before, but it's the way she's intoning them that pricks at me.  
  
 

She's wound up over a damn ring. I can nearly hear her shaking, the ground seeming to vibrate along my back from her shriek.  
  
 

I know she saw me give it to him in my mind, know she heard my reasoning that I spoke and thought but...why does she care so much? It's as if there's something I've missed in it, something that's infuriating her to the point of nearly breaking down the walls around us. But I can't think what. I try to force my mind back to all my father had told me about it, about the pureblood family lines and their protection, and just what naming Harry as my heart means in its entirety.  
  
 

But I'm coming up blank.  
  
 

It's just a simple protection ward is all I can remember, a ward that is supposed to protect him with a strong shield against me in particular if I ever try to hurt him. Unless that's it...unless she's furious because she intends to make me...fucking hell.  
  
 

Harry says something that I miss in answer to another of Bella's gruff demands and then there's a blast of magic - not Harry's or even Alecto's, it's darker, it's Bella's, and I feel my blood curl. It happens again and again, each time filling the air with a _crack!_ my body jerking with it.  
  
 

I wait with bated breath but there is no pained shriek or thud against the floor or even a gasp of barely suppressed agony. It's deadly silent for three horrible seconds before Bella is screaming in pure rage that has the room actually shaking this time.

 

Her magic is unbound, it's wild, and it’s out of her control. This is not going to go well.  
  
 

The quick click, tap, click, tap nears me and then her fingers are ripping my blindfold away, her face filling my view completely - more unhinged and crazed than ever, her eyes and cheeks shallow, her skin stretched and sickly yellow. She looks like she's been living underground for a year, feeding off scrapings of food and not seeing a shard of light in her endless pits that used to be such lovely shaded irises.  
  
 

"What did you do?!" She hollers at me as I strain my eyes to look over at Harry.  
  
 

There's a strange sort of glow around him, his gaze trained on his hands that are held out, palms up, before him. He's smiling. "I didn’t-" I gasp, unable to tear my eyes away from the ethereal light surrounding him or the smile on his lips. I can't understand it, Bella just attacked him, she must have, but he's...fine. He's more than fine, he looks positively giddy.  
  
 

When he looks up and at me I'm unprepared for the dancing in his eyes and it's like he's speaking in my ear, repeating from earlier, _"You always thought you were weaker...you saved me...we have a choice...you fight."_ I feel something shift inside me, something akin to the shattering of the block that Harry broke all those weeks ago, something frightening and exciting all at once.  
  
 

"You will pay for your insolence! I will dance on your grave while the Dark Lord tortures your lover for all time!" Bella bites out like a rabid wolf and there's a sick part of me that almost needs to believe her but there's another part, a small but growing part, that wants to laugh in her face.  
  
 

It's my choice.  
  
 

I don't understand all that's going on, I don't know how I can live through eradicating this darkness, I can't fit together all the pieces that have been hidden from me all this time but I get a choice.  
  
 

And I choose to fight.  
  
 

"Look at me!" She commands and I shift my eyes back to her lazily, Harry's smile trailing after me like a light I can cling to. "It won't protect ickle Potter forever. He'll fall just like he was always going to as soon as I bring the Dark Lord back."  
  
 

I smile and her face twists. "But you're wrong, Harry will always win."  
  
 

Her wand presses under my chin, biting sharply into my skin as I suck in a breath, trying to keep my panic at bay, trying to hold onto the feeling of power that I had a glimpse of. "Dimwitted brat! We'll see, won't we?" She grins and pulling her wand back, drags it across her hand, slicing the skin. Holding the dripping cut over me, she clenches then opens her fist and I see the red rain before is splatters my face in a grotesque ritual as she chants under her breath in a low droning voice.  
  
 

I feel the binds on the various points of my body tighten and burn, threatening my circulation and air - a dark rise of shadows growing from the outline around me, glowing and dancing with her words - my chest where Safiya drew her mark feels like it's catching on fire and burning right through to my bones. Like the black charcoal is destined to meet the darkness inside me.  
  
 

I grit my teeth and try not to scream through it.  
  
 

This is old magic. Powerful magic. Magic I know nothing of, other than what I've read when I was a teenager.  
  
 

I don't know how to fight this and I can't believe that just wanting to will be enough.  
  
 

There's a darkness around my field of vision, slowly creeping forward like something is cropping the picture before me, shrinking it down until it's only a pin of light. Then nothing.  
  
 

"Say goodbye Potter." Bella chuckles and before I slip past an undefinable line I hear Harry shout my name.

 

He sounds terrified.  
  
 

I fall and fall and fall, tumbling blindly through a scorching heat, spiraling towards the pit that's been threatening me for years - the pit that has always stayed just out of reach, never quite open enough to swallow me whole.  
  
 

It's open now and I can see something swirling inside. It's black on black but it's alive and moving and I hear myself scream.  
  
 

Is this how Harry felt? When the Dark Lord struck him down and he laid unconscious on the battle field? Did he stumble into the part of his enemy's soul that had lived inside him his whole life? Did he feel like it was going to swallow him and turn him inside out? Did he think he was going to burn alive from the heat and lose his mind from the horrific thoughts and the touch of something so purely evil? He said he survived because he had a choice.  
  
 

What bloody choice?  
  
 

There's no telling up from down, no sound, no touch other than heat, no color other than the blackest of night. It's like that day all over again, when the diadem burst open and the bit of soul surged inside me, attacking me, leaching onto me.  
  
 

I open my mouth and I hear a laugh. It's not my own and I panic.  
  
 

But Harry wouldn't lie. There has to be a way. There has to be a choice.  
  
 

Harry had been glowing, staring at his hands...no, at my ring. He had been staring at my ring and grinning when Bella tried to strike him down. This is important I know it is. But my mind is turning to mud, it's turning to scorch marks on a wall, marks that can never be removed.  
  
 

Like the Dark Mark. The mark that was meant to follow me around all the days of my life. The mark I somehow managed to carve away with a knife and a bottle of whiskey.  
  
 

These thoughts light like stars in the sky, dots barely visible, needing to be connected to make any sense and hold any meaning. But how? How do I draw their shape? What’s the curve? What’s the course and direction?  
  
 

What had I been thinking when I put the dull knife to my skin? What had driven me to sink the blade into my cursed flesh? I had...I was drunk. Drunk and desperate. I had just beaten a man to death for attacking a poor, innocent woman. I had killed him, he may have deserved it but still...I remember thinking that, that hadn't been my choice to make but I had done so anyway. I had been hailed a hero but all I felt after the spark of adrenaline had died was...filthy.  
  
 

I felt close to the darkness inside me.  
  
 

I felt like the piece of dirt Bella tried to crush me into and I had dug into my arm, nicking away the flesh and with it the wicked ink. I had chanted to myself that I wasn't evil and had unwillingly pictured Harry's face, imaging the look in his eyes if he had seen me crush the man's windpipe - snuffing his flame of life from this world.  
  
 

I cried for forgiveness and wept because I didn't believe I deserved it nor would ever receive it.  
  
 

But I didn't stop there, did I? I embraced the fight. I clothed it in what seemed like the only kind of beauty I would ever be allowed near again and sunk myself in it. I hung myself right above the darkness, satisfying it with blood on my knuckles and the cracking of bones, the ring quieted the roar - it subdued the feeling of being split in two. It allowed me to breathe.  
  
 

But it was false.  
  
 

I suddenly feel like I've been living off nothing but stale bread and dirty water. I feel like the air I've been sucking down has been nothing but smoke. I feel...cheated.  
  
 

I feel angry. And not the foreign, terrifying anger of some other sickening being, but my own. The same anger I used to misplace and direct at Harry in my youth, the same anger that I used to feel towards the Dark Lord and his followers, the same anger that used to make my tongue run wild.  
  
 

There's a tugging on my throat, a constricting around my middle, and a low curling voice of malice reaching up to me - reminding me of my filth, of my disease, of just who I am. Reminding me that I am a carrier, a tool, and nothing more. It pulls and pulls and the beating in my chest stops with a painful lurch – sparks pressing behind my eyes before it all blinks out. Finger’s reaching from deep inside me wrap around my lungs and there is no more air.

 

I am nothing.

 

But there's something else, a tingling in my fingers, running up my arms, a pulse that's not burning but pleasantly warm.  
  
 

It reminds me of Harry's touch and suddenly the malicious echo is falling away, replaced with Harry's voice, with his whispers in the dead of night. I feel his lips on my ear, his breath on my skin, but most importantly I hear him. I hear him saying all the things I've been tucking away, not willing to believe about myself any longer. Each statement grows inside me, swelling my heart and loosening the constricting binds around me - driving more pricks of light into the night.  
  
 

I listen. Truly listen.  
  
 

And I realize with a light head that’s suddenly oddly steady, that it's always been him. That he's always steadied me. I was worried he would spend his life driving us both mad with trying to fix me but I got it wrong. He's not fixing, he's just...loving.  
  
 

And I can either love him back or let myself be dragged under. Isn't that what Dumbledore was always trying to hint at, that love was stronger than any other magic? I never understood it before, always thought he was a sentimental fool. But it's true, how else would Harry have evaded receiving even a scratch from Bella today, from my crazy Aunt who loves using the most nasty and powerful of curses.  
  
 

It's so sappy that there's a large part of me, my Slytherin heritage no doubt, that is rebelling against the very notion even as I feel myself lifting - flying up and out of the pit that's fighting to pull me further and keep me there.  
  
 

It wants to drown me and burn me all at once...just like Safiya had said, this is the moment she has been waiting for. She's been playing me, sliding me into place, maneuvering me until I was here - a place where I can end and something more powerful can rise. Something, or someone, who can restore her.  
  
 

But I love Harry, god I love him with every fiber of my being and if my love can protect him, why couldn't his save me? If I choose to let it. I'm tired of feeling heavy, I'm tired of feeling mental, I'm tired of being afraid, I'm tired of feeling like the filth of the world, I'm tired of running.  
  
 

Acceptance is a strange thing.  
  
 

I rise and feel a thump in my chest.

 

I cry out and feel air surge into my lungs.

  
  
I know I'm talking but it's a weird, floating sensation where I'm disconnected from my own lips and tongue, to the point where I can only feel the air leave my chest as my voice rises. And my voice is most certainty rising, it's ringing in sound but not words in my ears, and I feel the bindings on my arms snap, feel a clearness enter my mind - sharper then I have in ages - feel the darkness shriek away from me, caving in on itself. It's melting down and down and down and with a shout my eyes snap open, the room coming into perfectly clear focus, Bella's eyes impossibly wide right before me.  
  
 

"No!" She shrieks, her hand rising just a fraction before I'm grabbing it, bending the delicate joints backwards, her wand falling from her grasp - all the while straining against the rest of my binds, focusing all of myself on breaking through them. With a crack of magic the cords snap and I swing up and around, wrapping my left arm around Bella's neck before she even realizes what's going on. Quickly placing my hand against the inside of my opposite elbow I use my right hand to press down sharply on the back of her head while flexing my arm simultaneously.  
  
 

She chokes and claws at my elbow as numbers build in my head, her body slowly slumping before going boneless altogether in my grasp. I breathe against her bent head, her wild hair in my face, my arm relaxing on instinct so as not to bring her all the way over to death. She feels frighteningly light and with her back pressed against my front I can feel the bones of her body, sticking to her skin without an inch of fat. It's strange to feel, such a powerful woman, a terrifying force all my life, now she just feels...small.  
  
 

Letting her slide to the floor, limp and unconscious, I rise from my knees as I reach for her wand, my legs frightfully steady under my weight - her long wand thick against my hand.  
  
 

"How did you..." Harry whispers from behind me and I glance over at him, his eyes trained on Bella's form.  
  
 

"Pressure points. She'll wake soon." I explain, brushing my hair from my sticky forehead, the drops of her dried blood flaking on my cheeks.  
  
 

He nods slowly before turning his gaze on me, his face terribly pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, his dark curls heavy against his skin. "That was horrifying, what...what happened?"  
  
 

I grin back at him, my spirit feeling light as a feather, like I could float to the ceiling and beyond. I feel like I could fly. "I don't rightly know." I reply honestly.  
  
 

"But you're alright?" He asks, eyeing me up and down, trying to see all the way inside me no doubt.  
  
 

Four quick strides later and I'm crossing into his little circle, grabbing him around the waist and pressing my mouth to his as he lets out a yelp of surprise. "Fucking fantastic." I can't stop smiling as I pull back after plundering his mouth, his shaking hands in my hair already.  
  
 

"Oh." He pants, his lips dancing with a little smile as he tries to catch his breath. "You look..."  
  
 

"Different?" I supply and he nods. "I'll try and explain later, right now we need to get out of here."  
  
 

He scrubs his thumbs over my cheeks, trying to remove the specks of red. "Right, one problem. I can't leave this damn circle, I can barely manage to get within an inch of it."  
  
 

Glancing down at the drawn ring around him, I frown. Blood magic isn't something to trifle with, it's strong, holding disastrous consequences if one tries to tamper with it without knowing the underling spells holding it together. "How'd you get inside it?" I ask him, still studying the circle closely, looking for any flaw in its design. But it's perfect, an exact circle, thick and steady in its painted brush strokes.  
  
 

He chuckles a little, shaking his head. "Apparated right into it, Safiya had placed the coin I gave you in the center of it and I had been using that as a guide. It had a tracking spell on it."  
  
 

"Reckless idiot." I grumble.  
  
 

"Oh, I'm the reckless idiot? I'm not the one who marched here all by myself to try and reason with an insane person." He counters and I purposely ignore him, stepping outside the circle and back in without any sort of resistance. Apparently it will only stop Harry.  
  
 

"Who drew the diagram around me?" I ask, peeking back at the large, intricate drawing that I had been strapped down in the middle of. It's melted in places now and I can't help but wonder if I had managed to do that when I was fighting with the darkness or bit of soul or whatever it was inside me. Was weakening it how I had managed to escape?  
  
 

"Bellatrix." Harry answers. "The others left as soon as she was done. They seemed to have some sort of unspoken agreement."  
  
 

Running my finger over the charcoal outline, I nod, slowly piecing together a plan. I'll bet anything Bella drew Harry's circle as well, that she was the one to enact the blood magic and funnel her power into it. Safiya couldn't have done it if she's been made as useless as she says and Alecto...well she was always shit at complex magic. She could torture but that was about it.  
  
 

Straightening my back, I lift Bella's own wand and point it at her, my fingers stiff around the wood and a nervousness tugging at me. With a deep breath to steady my thumping heart, I close my eyes, summon my strength and focus, and whisper, "Legilimens."  
  
 

It’s like falling through a waterfall.

 

Her mind is a diseased place and I pick my way quickly through it, looking for one particular thing. She's warded against it, has tampered with it, shrouding it in a thick mist, and I have to press forward with all my strength - my palm sweating around her wand, my breath dragging harshly through my lungs. But it's there, the answer I need and I fight through to it.  
  
 

When I break through it's terribly dizzying for a moment as I try to catch my bearings, working on keeping my focus and singular thought so as not to lose the memory. Reconstructing it is painstaking and pulling out is a relief.  
  
 

"Damn it. Stand in the center Harry." I instruct as I open my eyes, lowering her wand carefully to my side.  
  
 

"What is it, did you figure out how to end the enchantment?" He asks, his feet annoying silent against the ground.  
  
 

I nod, giving myself a moment to stare at the ground before looking up to meet his gaze. "Yes, now please step back."  
  
 

He hesitates, his mouth opening and shutting as he glances between me and Bella before doing as asked. "What are you going to do?"  
  
 

"It's blood magic." Crouching down next to Bella I pull from the folds of her skirt a long, intricately carved knife made completely out of ivory. It's blindingly white, beautiful and cool to the touch even though it's been sitting next to her skin for hours. I suppress a shudder as I think about what she had intended its use for.  
  
 

Seeing her plans in her mind was shocking, twisting my guts with not only what she had planned to do to me but what she had planned for me in turn to do to Harry. I hated her before, now I feel positively murderous.  
  
 

Put there’s no time to think on anything but breaking him free.

  
  
"Draco..." Harry draws in a breath as I turn with the knife in my hand. "Tell me what you're going to do." He demands, biting harshly into his lip and hissing in sharply as I drag the knife along my forearm - from the bend in my wrist to the hollow of my elbow. It stings and pulses with the power from the magic woven into the knife and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. "Don't-" He gasps then stops as I shake my head softly.  
  
 

Standing at the very edge of his circle, I hold my arm out with the cut facing down, squeezing my skin so the blood drips down to patter against the floor as I walk backwards along the circles outline - careful not to step on the oily substance nor let the splatters of my blood hit even the very edge of it. It's painful and slow going, Harry standing thankfully silent and still as I make my way around, growing increasingly lightheaded and having to continually remind myself what I'm doing with each step.  
  
 

I sigh gratefully as I come full circle, pressing my wounded arm into my middle as I grasp Bella's wand once more, pointing it at the drops of blood encircling the previous outline. Staring at it until the two merge in my sight, I intone the words I saw Bella speak, this time winding them backwards, starting where she ended and finishing where she started.

 

The world around me falls away with the first syllable.

 

In its place is a sound like there's a million little insects buzzing in my ears, rising in pitch around me as I speak, a dull sort of thud sounding in the background, muted voices trying to inch their way through my muffled ears but they spread like ash in the wind. Concentrating only on my task, trying to recall and remember not only the words but the cadence and inflection behind them, driving everything I have into them.  
  
 

There's a push against my back, a curling jolt of pain up my spine, and my voice hitches as I press on, pushing away the shouts that are trying to dissuade me but I'm almost finished, almost done, just one more and...  
  
 

There's a light that snaps up as the pain spreads and laces through my cut and then with a dull burning the glow slowly ebbs away, leaving one circle that's pulsing a soft green encompassing my entire vision like a solar eclipse.

 

I nearly collapse out of relief or maybe out of pain as my legs start to shake and the buzzing starts to dim and I begin to notice that the air around me is filled with voices. Glancing up with a heavy head that seems too much for my neck to support I let out a gasp of air as I find myself shoved roughly against a hard surface. Everything seems a bit surreal, like I've been blinded to all but the circle and the power in the enchantment as I slump back into it with the realization that I'll most assuredly fall over if I don't - my vision and some of my senses abruptly returning to me.  
  
 

Harry has me pinned to the wall with a hand splayed firmly across my burning chest with his other hand inexplicably holding Bella's wand out in front of himself.  
  
 

"-Wretched woman, must I do everything?" Safiya's voice wafts lowing into my fuzzy head as I run my gaze along Harry's outstretched arm, over the length of Bella's wand, and straight to where it's pointing at the Madame who's standing in the open doorway to our little room.  
  
 

Dropping my gaze down and to the right I spot Alecto, bending over Bella and flicking her wand above her prone body, stirring life into her slumped limbs. There's a soft shimmering in the air around us that's dissolving and I realize belatedly that Alecto had fired a curse at us and Harry had managed to throw up a shield before it hit.   
  
 

All before I even noticed they were in the bloody room, damn it. What else did I miss? Judging from the foggy sense of shouting I can guess that there was some sort of struggle, not to mention the pain that tried and thankfully failed to stop me from freeing Harry. But what exactly, I can't remember, it's all a mist, all a guess. How in the world Harry managed anything while he was still in his damn circle is beyond me but he must have. That's the only explanation.  
  
 

"Give up now if you know what's best." Harry growls, his hand still keeping me in place with a surprising force, his wand unwavering, his eyes narrowed to match his dangerous tone - his voice throbbing in my head.  
  
 

Safiya glares at Bella's twitching body for a moment before a muscle spasms madly in her jaw. "I think not. I've waited to damn long for this. You will not take this from me Harry Potter, I don't care who you are!"  
  
 

"You should." I interject with a hoarse almost nonexistent voice, finding the way her chest is heaving with a barely suppressed rage fascinating. Her composure, always smooth and collected, is breaking, her entire frame tensing as she glances at the ruined diagram and circle on the floor. She's going to snap.  
  
 

"You won't ever touch him again." Harry spits seconds before there's light exploding from the tip of his wand, but it's not aimed at Safiya - her eyes widening as the vicinity to her right lights and something splinters.  
  
 

The ground shakes and white spots my vision and when it clears Alecto is firing back at Harry with the side of her face scorching black, a second wand, Harry's no doubt, leaving her grasp in a haphazard arch as it flies towards...Bella. My Aunt, no longer a silent twitching mass, crackles with the madness inside her as she scrambles to her unsteady feet - purple bruises on her throat.  
  
 

I should have snapped her neck when I had the chance is all I can think as she spews threats and rage, Harry's arm moving at a manic pace as he fights them both off, his entire body angled in front of me. And I can't help, I'm bloody useless, just another body for him protect and think about as he defends and attacks over and over again. All my skills are moot in a fight like this and I feel like keeling over at any moment - my cut flowing red down my arm and onto my pants and the floor, my head woozy and swimming, allowing me only to catch snippets of what's going on.  
  
 

Right now I just need to not throw up. Not throw up or pass out and do...something.  
  
 

I stare at the back of his neck, see a line of sweat slide down his skin, and my stomach knots. Two against one. Harry is powerful but so is Bella and she is mad. But he'll win, he has to win, just like he always does. I won't be the death of him, I refuse to believe that anymore. The thing is, he's out of practice. He's been wandering around the muggle word for years, hasn't been in a battle for ages, and he'll tire with no one to back him up, to keep him going.  
  
 

Fixing my jaw and lifting my hands that feel much too heavy, I ignore all the pain wracking my body, all the exhaustion and confusion still lacing through me, and I concentrate all of myself on protecting him. It's the most I can hope for, I'm no longer practiced enough to be of much use offensively, especially wandlessly. I feel my magic bubble like a boiling cauldron, rising and shimmering to the surface before it comes spilling out with a shout, a light rising up and encapsulating us. I smack back against the wall as my arms fall to my side, my very skin pulsing up and down with a weird tingling in my fingers.  
  
 

Harry glances up at it for a split second and I see the corner of a grin before he's twirling his wand around, a renewed vigor in each silently cast curse that crackles like a warm blanket around me and sends Alecto and Bella's eyes wide as they step back and dance to and fro.  
  
 

The room is lit with red and green and blue and in the chaos and show of light that may have been beautiful under any other circumstances, I see a flash of red silk and black tresses as Safiya turns and flees out the open door.  
  
 

I don't even think, adrenaline suddenly catching fire in my lifeless veins.  
  
 

I don't think I even say anything before I'm dropping to the floor, crawling under the flying battle going on around me as I slip and scramble after her, propelling myself to my feet and through the door with my hand on the door frame - barely noticing the trail of red I'm leaving behind me or the sloppy hand print that stains the wood. There's no fucking way she's getting away. I will not let her walk away from this, she will pay, she will see my face, hear my voice, and she will plead.  
  
 

I'll show her burning.  
  
 

She will wish she never messed with me but more importantly she'll wish she never dragged Harry into this.  
  
 

"Safiya!" I holler as I barrel down the hallway, the sounds of curses landing and missing fading behind me as I sprint as fast as my legs will take me, slipping around a corner and following the trail of her fleeting image before me as the familiar thump before a fight sounds in my ears to replace the disorienting buzz.  
  
 

The four guards I run into are on the floor faster than I can acknowledge their presence, broken and unconscious beneath my feet as I fly over them, intent on my one and only goal with a vague stinging along my knuckles. I feel sharper than I have before any other fight, focused down to the very thrum in my blood with only one thought.  
  
 

There's nothing else.  
  
 

Catching a guard across the jaw with a swift uppercut, I grasp the top of the door frame, swing myself up and drop my knees on his shoulders - barely hearing his surprised cry before I let go and twist as he falls. The crack of his neck breaking is soft and I don't look down into his lifeless eyes as I bounce back up and take up my run.  
  
 

I'll repent later.  
  
 

A door slams shut at the end of the stairs that are disappearing under my feet four at a time, my shoulder smashing into the wood that gives an inch or two before cracking and bursting inward.  
  
 

"That's enough." Safiya intones, out of breath, a metallic click punctuating her words.  
  
 

I come skidding to a halt, glaring down at her as she leans against the edge of a couch, an old fashioned revolver held in her hand - the gleaming metal much too big looking to fit so snugly in her palm, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. "A muggle weapon?" I rasp, trying to calculate how quickly I can move in comparison to how fast a bullet will travel.  
  
 

"Crude, I know." She smiles, the gun perfectly steady as it stays pointed right at my heart. "But then again there's something elegant about it don't you think?"  
  
 

"I think you've spent too many years planning your vengeance." I reply, pressing my profusely bleeding forearm into my side, trying without much success to staunch some of the blood flow.  
  
 

She cocks her head, glancing down at the blood seeping down my side and through my still gaping shirt with a strange spark. "And why is that?"  
  
 

"Because in your desperation to be all you were born to be, you neglected to realize something."  
  
 

"Stop leading and just spit it out darling before I tire of this and just shoot you." She instructs but she doesn't look bored. She looks not only outraged but horrifically confused.  
  
 

I don't really blame her, I'm rather confused about everything that's happened myself. "Harry." I say pointedly, taking one cautious step in as she frowns.  
  
 

"Beg your pardon?"  
  
 

"You aren't the first to underestimate him and I doubt you'll be the last. He doesn't look particularly powerful does he? And yet he's managed to completely screw you and your carefully laid plans over."  
  
 

"You put too much stock in him my dear, seems you always have from what I've heard. It was you who, rather miraculously, broke free from the ritual and it was you who figured out how to free him. Which just proves what I've always known. You're powerful Draco, you could be unstoppable, together we could rule if you'd just give into your darkness." She looks like she truly believes the words she's saying - that we could rise up and overtake her enemies if I just bent to her will and let myself be consumed. She believes it wholeheartedly, desperately, she's clinging to it like a thread about to be snipped with a pair of sheers.  
  
 

She may smile and claim she's Queen but she hates this. Hates her life among the muggles, hates that the power that is her birthright has been stripped from her. Hatred makes people both dangerous and desolate.  
  
 

She's right in a way, she needs me, if only to cling to her delusion - and delusions can be a powerful thing indeed.  
  
 

I smile. "Funny."  
  
 

She narrows her eyes. "Really? You didn't seem to be laughing earlier when you were swinging from the ceiling, tell me dear, what's tickled your fancy?"  
  
 

"All this time you've been plotting and planning, eager to free my darker side and yet you completely sabotaged your efforts. You could have had me." I murmur, sliding further into the room and watching as she takes a half step back, eyeing me wearily. "You could have broken me, unleashed the madness, I suppose that means we could have ruled as you say." I explain, knowing deep down the terrifying truth of my statement.  
  
 

"I'm anticipating a 'but' in all of this." She drawls with annoyance.  
  
 

"Indeed." I nod, pushing the hair out of my eyes with a sticky hand that keeps the locks back in thick red strands. "If you had just taken me, forced Bella on me again, you could have dragged the bit of soul back up but you didn't. Instead you foolishly brought Harry into all of this."  
  
 

Safiya growls and the gun wavers in her hand. "Foolish was it?"  
  
 

"Yes and it's not even about his power, even though he is more so than you could ever imagine." There's ten paces between us, a low table made of rich maple obstructing the path. But that's it, just ten steps, ten steps, and I could end this. Ten steps and I could make her forever wish she never knew me.  
  
 

"If you say this is about love, I think I'll have to shoot you on the spot darling." Her jaw clenches as her fingers tighten around the metal and she seems suddenly so powerless. Like a little girl throwing a tantrum over not getting her dessert. A little girl with eyes of ice, a heart of black malice, and a deadly weapon - but a little girl none the less.  
  
 

I wonder how old she was when she was stripped of her magic. I wonder if her family shunned her and renounced her. I wonder if she suddenly found herself homeless and penniless and had to forge her own way through this treacherous world. It would explain her hatred, her anger, her animosity, her need for revenge.  
  
 

My knee hits the edge of the table and I can't help but smirk even as I feel a little lurching in my stomach from the nausea that all the blood loss is causing. Whatever her circumstances, she chose this latest path, she chose to believe Alecto's tale about a boy who was torn apart in his soul and who could save her. She chose to break me.  
  
 

"It's about Harry. It's about the fact that you brought the only living soul in this world who has ever made me strong, the only man who has ever made me stand up and fight, back into my life. You did it as another kind of torture didn't you? How you must have loved watching me battle with him all this time. Bella wanted him here so once the Dark Lord was resurrected he could kill him, Alecto wanted revenge for her brother. But not you. No you like theater too much, you like pain. It fuels you. You are misery aren't you?" I can't seem to shut up, the words spilling out faster than I can think them but they need to be said and as I do so - watching her facial muscles twitch and her eyes flame - I feel stronger and stronger.

 

I feel like I finally know her.  
  
 

"Dissecting me now? To put it simply I am misery's mistress, her master. I am what life tried to throw away, only to rise stronger." She bites out, sounding more unbalanced than I've ever heard her. I've hit a nerve.  
  
 

"So you've said."  
  
 

"And what are you then? His toy to fix? Mr. Potter's little lover who just can't quite remember his own name at times, who has to count and count just to stay sane. Don't look at me like that, I know you Draco, I've been watching you for years. I know you're ruined if you stay like this, if you don't embrace who you could be. I know you can't stop the war inside you, I know you fear the shadows, and crave blood. What would your sainted love think if he knew that? He won't stop trying to fix you, he'll never stop, and you know it. But I can fuel your blood lust, I can strengthen you wherever you are weak. I can be you're missing half." She says, her voice softening and yet still full of vengeance, a barely perceivable portion of her guard dropping and leaving her vulnerable for just a moment.  
  
 

I seize it.  
  
 

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not missing my other half. I am who I am Safiya." My voice is stern, her eyes wide, her pulse quickening as I shoot out and grab her, one hand around her neck and the other latching onto her hand holding the gun - directing her arm out and up, out of harm’s way - my feet braced atop the table. She blinks and gasps, my movement so unexpected she nearly topples over, staring up at me with eyes bulging. "You can't convince me otherwise."  
  
 

"Starting to believe Mr. Potter are you? That you're lovely and good?" She hisses, spitting the words out with malice. "And how long will that last? How long until you can't control it any longer and you snap?" Her throat works under my fingers and I squeeze threateningly, her chest catching. "See it's already happening. What would he say if you tried to take my life?"  
  
 

I grin and glance purposely over at the gun in our hands. "I think he would push me away and kill you himself. You've tempted him one to many times. You should have done your research more carefully, people who mess with the ones he loves tend to meet their end one way or another."  
  
 

"Lucky me for it's not likely he'll leave that room alive then." She glares and fights against straining her head back. "And I don't think you have it in you to murder me, otherwise you would have already." She smiles, trying and failing to look enticing. "There's a part of you that wants to give into me, isn't there? You want someone who knows all of you, wants all of you, someone who will let you live as you desire."  
  
 

I grin back at her, her eyes flashing with a smack of hope before I shove her roughly backwards, twisting the gun out of her grip as I do so. "I already have that and it's thanks to you that he's back, isn't it? So thank you Safiya, thank you finally making me face my demons and embrace what I truly want as you say."  
  
 

She clutches at the wall behind her, standing tall and erect, looking regal with my blood tripping down her bodice. "And what's that?" She sneers, losing all pretense of wanting me.  
  
 

Or maybe it's not pretense, maybe in her own twisted way she does.  
  
 

"My life back." I answer, feeling the weight of the trigger pressing into the pad of my finger, debating with myself over pulling it back or not - a small line holding me back from ending it completely here and now.

 

Her eyes flash, her jaw tensing and something changes in her gaze. Something like hope dying.  
  
 

"I'll never stop, I'll find you again and make you pay. I’ll take his life and make you watch it bleed out if he isn't already." She flings out harshly at me, fuming and raging and screeching in a way that reminds me of Bella right before she went completely mad.  
  
 

My eyes blaze, a fire in my blood that feels natural, that feels like...me. "Wrong thing to say." I hiss and squeeze the slim curve of metal. There’s a deafening bang, a jolt kicking up my arm, a cloud of gray smoke filling the air before me with a curl of burning sulfur. "You should have just let me go." I say softly as the cloud clears and I see her, clutching her chest and sliding down the wall, red gurgling up and out of her lips.

 

Nearly the color of her lipstick.  
  

And in that moment, watching her hit the ground, I feel it all. I feel every little thing I've been running from, every little thing I've been afraid to face, everything I've desired and hoped and dreamed, every little nightmare and vision. It all floods me as she spits her life, her eyes dulling, her dainty had clutching at the wound leaking to form a puddle all around her.  
  
 

Amongst it all I feel regret and finality.  
  
 

Because it's over and just like I always feared it came about with blood on my hands. No different from her.  
  
 

I don't know how long I stand there, holding the gun limp at my side, staring at her lifeless body with her head lolled to the side against the wall, a streak of red staining the surface behind her. I can't move, imaging our roles reversed like some sort of penance, wondering if she would have killed me liked I killed her, wondering in a fleeting way why she didn't pull the trigger the moment I walked into the room. I didn't think I'd feel regret, didn't think seeing her without any sort of spark would make me sick.  
  
 

"Draco." Arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against a solid, sweaty chest, the smell of dueling clinging to his skin and hair. I feel Harry's chin prop against my shoulder, his embrace hard, unyielding, and the gun slips from my hand to bang against the ground.  
  
 

"I killed her." I murmur, not turning my neck to look at him as I try to puzzle together everything vying for attention in me. "I had to." And it wasn't just because of her threat, though that was a significant part. No, it's more convoluted than that. I did it for Harry, for me, for Caleb and Donnie, and anyone else she's tries to make dance through fire. But there's another part, a stranger unspoken part that I can't fully understand.  
  
 

I did it because of the look in her eye.  
  
 

I did it because I recognized it and knew its depth and destruction. It was a look that has been my kin for so long, a look I could not stand to see.  
  
 

Misery indeed.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoosh that was difficult to write! It was interesting having to remain in Draco's POV for the whole thing, which of course means that it might not all be super coherent as we're seeing it from his eyes but hopefully it made sense and was satisfying. Almost done now, just one more chapter and an epilogue :)
> 
> AND SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY GUYS! Ugh life is such a bitch right now.


	25. Awake My Soul

  
  
  
  
  
  
"So...you're alive then?"

  
  
I glance up with a little laugh at the carefree way Caleb voices his concern, watching him as he leans against the archway leading into my kitchen, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes raking up and down my body. He may sound lighthearted but I know better, I know he was worried, is worried, his fist pounding on my door nearly the moment I was back.

  
  
It was probably a good thing I was in the shower then, washing away all the blood and sweat and some of the lingering evidence of my torture. All except the knife wound and the drawn ruin on my chest that has been burnt into my skin, marking me for who knows how long until it fades.

  
  
If it fades.

I had stayed under the hot spray tracing it over and over again, like the action would rub it away but of course it never did - would probably still be there trying to force it off if it wasn't for Harry's lips on my shoulder and his fingers replacing my own on my flesh. He's good at making me forget, if only for a while, if only during the slow languid kisses under the water - my body too wrecked for anything more despite the desire to bend him into myself and lose all sense of anything but him. Instead we had stood there, holding each other, mumbling against each other’s lips - words of comfort, reassurance, and promise. Words that would have terrified me just a few short days ago.

  
  
He had scrubbed the blood out of my hair with massaging fingers and peppered my face with kisses, whispering my name like it was grounding himself and I had closed my eyes and let myself be grounded as well.

Let the image of Safiya's dying face wash down the drain with the pink water.

  
  
"You look alive, if a bit battered." Caleb continues, stopping his roving eye on Harry's hands that are carefully wrapping a length of tan bandage around my forearm where I cut myself.  Harry wasn't able to heal it completely, neither was Granger, something about the cost of blood magic and the power in the knife. "Don't tell me, you got into a fight with your knife drawer?"

  
  
"Something like that." I smile, wincing slightly as Harry finishes and secures the bandage. "Have you heard from the Madame?" I hedge, trying to figure out if news of her death has gotten out yet. Harry had spent a good while altering the memories of all the people who were in the building before taking a bound Alecto to Weasley and Granger to be transported back to London.

  
  
Bella didn't make it. I didn't ask how or why and neither did he ask the details of my fight with Safiya. But I don't begrudge him for not sparing my Aunt just as he doesn't cast a critical eye on me for what I did. Truth be told, I'm glad she's gone, glad that all the people bent on turning me inside out are forever out of reach of me.

  
  
It was strange though, staring down into her wide eyes, stuck forever in a look of surprise and madness. It's strange to think I'll never have to fear her again, or hear her voice or laugh, that she'll be banished to my nightmares and my nightmares alone. Seems an unfitting end for anyone, to be cast forever in darkness.  
  
 

Perhaps I should be sad, she was my blood, my family, but I'm not and I can tell that Harry isn't either. And I love him a little bit more for that.  
  
 

I don't know what happened to their bodies, I'm not sure I want to know. Granger had placed a hand on my shoulder, gave it a light squeeze with a small sad smile before disappearing into the room with Harry - Safiya and Bella were gone when they reemerged.  
  
 

"Funny you should ask." Caleb ruffles his mousy brown hair and grins. "She's vanished. Cancelled her party the other night and then a few days later...gone." He shrugs. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that now would you?" He asks far too innocently, his gaze bouncing unhurriedly back and forth between Harry and me.  
  
 

Harry had answered the door after we realized that the pounding wasn't going to go away, letting me finish up, hoping that the longer I stayed under the heat, the better my body would feel. Yet I had felt oddly disconnected to my own flesh as it beat into me – all I could think was that the water on the tile had looked oddly white running down the shower wall, clearer then I remember it being before.

My fingers had shook just slightly on the buttons of my shirt as I pulled the fabric carefully over the fiery burn on my chest - a new mark.

Seems I'll forever be branded in some way.  
  
 

Caleb had stared at me for a good solid minute before saying anything when I finally emerged, his mouth slightly open like he was going to ask a question that took too long in coming. I couldn't help but wonder how much he knew just by looking at me. Caleb has been by my side fight after fight, he's seen me at my worst physically, he knows what exhaustion and pain looks like on me.  
  
 

And I remember the image I made in the mirror - sunken purple eyes, red skin, wrists raw, and a faint twitch in my jaw that hasn't stopped its spasm yet. A lovely side effect of extended contact with the Cruciatus curse. My gray eyes had seemed a different shade than I'm used to as well, like the pigment has been singed and forever changed - they were darker in the center, lighter around the edges, and all together strange to look at.  
  
 

Who knows though, maybe I'm imagining things, still trying to figure out just what exactly happened when I was under Bella's cursed ritual. It's all a muddle, one I'm unsure if I'll ever be able to work through.  
  
 

Or maybe I was looking to see if the spark was gone as another mark to carry around with me for taking Safiya's life.  
  
 

Unfortunately the mirror gave me no answers or consolation.  
  
 

"Not a thing." I reply, lifting a glass of water to my chapped lips and letting it slide down my parched throat, thankful that the rumors are spreading already. Of course Caleb won't be one to believe them, not completely, not with the timing of our disappearance and the sight of me now. But he won't say a word against us, of that I'm sure.  
  
 

Getting away with murder is an interesting feeling.  
  
 

Caleb laughs a little and shakes his head. "Right, too busy fucking I'm sure."  
  
 

"Something like that." Harry parrots me and I can't help but blush even though it's so ridiculously far from the truth as Caleb laughs louder and Harry winks blatantly at me.  
  
 

If only that was the truth.  
  
 

"Well Donnie's ecstatic." Caleb muses as I hop off the counter top, tugging the sleeve of my shirt down and over the long winding bandage. "Apparently he's been trying to get out from under her thumb for years. He's talking about going back to France."  
  
 

I smile inwardly at that, happy for Donnie, grateful that if my confrontation yielded nothing else at least it severed his bonds. "And you?" I ask, feeling only mildly embarrassed and self-conscious as Harry tugs me closer, his arm sneaking around my waist and his head propping itself on my shoulder, his thumb hooking in my front pocket.  
  
 

It's so strange and new being open together, we've never had that before. It's...nice, making warmth spread through me. Especially now, after all we've been through I have a completely unrealistic urge to never be more than an arm’s length away from  him - luckily for me he seems to mirror my thoughts for now.  
  
 

"Me?" Caleb sighs, shrugging again. "I haven't decided, I might stay, might go with Donnie, might go back home."  
  
 

"And where's that?" Harry asks.  
  
 

"Haven't figured that out by my dashing accent?" He replies, flashing us his most devilish smile.  
  
 

"What dashing accent?" I taunt and he scowls at me as Harry chuckles against my side and I decide that yes, I definitely could get used to this. And I can, I will. There will be no more pushing him away, only pulling him closer.  
  
 

"Yeah, yeah, no one ever finds American's exotic, especially compared to you damn Brits." He grumbles and fidgets with the zipper to his sweatshirt, clearly contemplating his next words. "Are you done then? Quitting the fight I mean?"  
  
 

Harry stiffens just a little next to me, his thumb that had been rubbing along the inside of my pocket stilling as he waits for my answer. It's a loaded question, even more so than Caleb or even Harry can possibly know. It reaches inside me and I wait, expecting it to trigger something, to feel something...perhaps a dread or a pounding in my head or a fear of letting it go or maybe even a drive to be as far from it as possible.  
  
 

I wait but nothing comes. Everything inside me is still. Quiet.  
  
 

I swallow and glance down at Harry, his mop of stormy hair trying to shelter his piercing eyes but they stare up at me through his dark curls anyway. Eye's that are open and willing and waiting. It's my choice, he won't sway me one way or the other despite the fact that I almost want him to. Want him to persuade me, to take the decision from me because it feels oddly terrifying. Everything's been the same for me for so long, walking the tightrope and hoping not to fall as I pushed my body to new limits. I don't know how to live without routine and control and rhythm - without precise measured steps and the calculated minutes that stretch my days.  
  
 

But I don't have to anymore, there's nothing chaining me down any longer. The way is free and as I fall into the vivid green of Harry's gaze I feel my pulse pick up, feel my heart thump, and my breath drag in tempo with it. I don't need the fight to steady me, don't need it to keep me sane, don't need it to simply feel something, anything. Harry makes me remember who I am, who I want to be, he makes me buzz with electricity with just a look.  
  
 

If I stay, if I continue my profession it will be different, of that I'm sure.  
  
 

"I haven't fully decided." I finally say with a shrug, tearing my gaze away from Harry and back to Caleb. "I'm going to be taking a break for a while though."  
  
 

Caleb smiles with a little nod, like he expected the answer but is saddened by it anyway. "You'll be leavening then?"  
  
 

"Yes and soon." I reply, feeling Harry melt a little into my side, apparently pleased with my answer. "I'm rather keen on a change of scenery."  
  
 

"And just where might that change turn out to be?" Harry asks, sounding amused and hopeful, a small laugh escaping his lips as I shrug one shoulder and send him a half smile that pulls one side of my mouth up sharply.  
  
 

Caleb pulls his zipper up to his throat and gives us a funny little look as he straightens from his leaning position. "Have to get away from your evil knife drawer?"  
  
 

"It's a wretched thing." I say mournfully as I glance pointedly at the inconspicuous drawer. With a laugh Caleb rubs his chin and glances at his feet, shifting his weight and looking rather forlorn and I realize that I truly will miss him. A faithful friend in a life that's run rather scarce of them. But I don't know how to do this. Saying goodbye has never been my forte, preferring to just pick up and leave in the middle of the night.  
  
 

"Well, best of luck and all that." He fidgets, takes a step and stops. "Send me a postcard yeah?"  
  
 

"And address it where exactly?" I ask, untangling myself from Harry and meeting him halfway, hand reaching out for a shake.  
  
 

"Good point, not like you would anyway." He winks and grabs my hand, tugging me sharply into a hug that hurts against my sensitive skin. It's rather a simple gesture but really it's the perfect way to say goodbye and I let myself relax into it. "I hate long goodbyes." He grumbles and I snicker as he mirrors my own thoughts exactly.  
  
 

"Couldn't agree more." I murmur into his hair and pull back, rather surprised when he keeps his hands on my shoulders, preventing my escape.  
  
 

"You'll have to forgive me Harry." He calls over my shoulder before grabbing my face and placing a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth.  
  
 

Feeling foreign lips on my own is shocking, their warm and wet and thick and filled with kindness - vastly different from Harry's kisses that are always fueled with passion, even the light, slow ones are always simmering with heat just under his intake of breath. This is a kiss of friendship, the kind of which that has always eluded me. Funny to think that I'm just now realizing it as our time together is coming to a close. Seems like a waste and I wish I had gotten to know him under better circumstances, when I was wholly myself and not afraid of my own shadow.  
  
 

"I will if you let go now." Harry's at my side again, sounding stern and yet understanding, his expression neither hard nor accusatory.  
  
 

Caleb withdrawals and shrugs sheepishly. "Can you blame me?" He addresses Harry and reaches out to clasp his hand in a firm shake.  
  
 

Harry glances sideways at me and smiles. "Suppose not."  
  
 

Watching Caleb walk out the door a little while later, wearing a soft smile before turning and whistling to himself down the hall, feels like a kind of settling. Like a chapter of my life is drawing to a close. A chapter I'd sooner forget, all but a handful of things. But there's light on the next page and crawling into bed with Harry and passing out in the middle of the day feels like the perfect way to start.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
   
  
  
  
I dream of running.  
  
 

Jogging down a crowded street with sweat on my skin and a pounding in my chest - the sun beating down on me with rays of pure heat and light. The pavement beneath my feet is cracked and vibrates with each smack. The crowd pushes towards me and sings with noise before disappearing altogether.   
  
 

And I am solitary.  
  
 

For all but a moment before there's arms around my waist, tugging me back into darkness that doesn't feel threatening but hopeful.  
  
 

Like it could hold anything and everything.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
"Are you sure about this?"  
  
 

I nod, staring up the steep winding dirt path, the colorful squares of cloth flapping in the breeze with the faintest tinkle of chimes off in the distance. The house sitting at the top is small and squat, the mud brick muted in color and the thatched roof slanting across the top, a field stretching far off to the right with a mountain rising straight up to the left. It is breathtakingly beautiful in its simplicity. Or maybe it's the air, everything so clean smelling and fresh and light. Like you could jump and fly away on its current.  
  
 

"And you?" I ask, grasping his hand tight in mine as we both stare straight ahead at the awaiting house.  
  
 

Harry nods slowly. "Yeah, I just...a bit nervous. We didn't part on the best of terms."  
  
 

"You could wait in the village." I offer, already knowing his response before the question is fully out.  
  
 

He shifts the backpack on his shoulders and sighs. "No, I want to do this."  
  
 

"Alright then." I mutter, shifting the weight of my own bag before starting determinedly up the path.  
  
 

We don't speak again as we hike up, both of us lost in our own memories and thoughts, unsure what to expect from this visit. It could go so many different ways and I feel myself grow anxious as the ground narrows beneath our feet. My legs are burning pleasantly by the time we reach the top, the air thin and with a welcoming bite to it on my cheeks as I unwind the threadbare scarf from around my neck - letting it hang open down my front.  
  
 

"Harry." I pause as we reach the gate of the old fence running around the little house, the warning I had planned somehow lodged in my throat with a sudden inability to form my thoughts into a coherent sentence. But this trip, all those hours on horrible buses driving up dangerous roads, all the days we spent hiking with our feet growing numb and chaffed in our boots, the nights huddled in a little tent with our throbbing limbs and aching backs - they all had served a purpose.  
  
 

To bring us here, where we both needed to go I think before we could start out on our new life together. And we needed to do it that way, at least I did and I think so did Harry, without the use of magic. We had to feel it, feel the trip in our bones and weary flesh - I wonder if I'll ever feel differently, if the need for the physical connections to things will lesson and magic will come more naturally to me once more. But now I almost feel responsible for the reception we'll receive, protective of Harry and the lashing he may endure.  
  
 

"I know." He says and squares his shoulders, pushing the unlatched gate in and stepping through.  
  
 

Following Harry up the rest of the small path, I rap my knuckles against the rickety door, holding my breath and glancing nervously at him as we wait for an answer. It only takes a moment, the sound of shuffling feet, a barked command at a dog yelping in distress, and then it's opening before us - revealing a dark, sparse interior flickering in candle light - illuminating the tall, dark figure filling the doorframe from top to bottom.  
  
 

There's a scowl on his face that morphs in an instant, melting down into a look of utter surprise, his brown slanting eyes widening and blinking out at us. No, not us, at Harry, who’s staring back with an unsure smile as he drops his backpack to the ground by his feet.  
  
 

"Harry." Blaise breathes and in a move that leaves me speechless, he reaches out and grabs him, pulling Harry into a rough embrace that has him blinking in shock before he manages to raise his arms and wrap them around the man crushing him.  
  
 

Well, I suppose my worry was misplaced, my feet shifting awkwardly as I watch my former best friend squeeze my lover with all his might. With a smack of something akin to an ache in my chest I recognize the look on Blaise's face. The way his eyes are shut tight, the way his mouth is drawn up into a smile that's boarding on a grimace, on the way his hands are bunching into Harry's thin gray jacket.  
  
 

He's holding him like he's unsure he's real. Like he's smoke that will be gone the moment he opens his eyes. I recognize it because I've been there myself and it's in this moment that I realize how deeply their connection ran. I almost feel like an intruder, looking in on a moment that shouldn't be for my eyes.  
  
 

"Blaise." Harry says, his voice a little constricted from the tight embrace, his eyes wide and glancing repeatedly over at me. "You're touching me." He mutters and I cock my head in confusion till I remember what Harry had told me - about the curses Blaise had suffered that made him detest even the slightest touch of a breeze against his skin. How it nearly drove him mad and sent him spiraling into violence against himself.  
  
 

That seems to jolt Blaise back into himself though and he pulls back with a chuckle, shaking his head full of shaggy black hair that's hanging about his face in thickly matted curls - the sight just another shock to my system. I've never seen him look so unkempt, so wild, and uncaring. It's like staring at a stranger, with a smile on usually smug lips, the clothes on his tall slim frame just shy of dingy but plainly worn and worked in on a regular basis. Brown boots with mud stains and thick gray wool peeking out the tops and fingernails with dirt embedded deep under the rims and along his cuticles.  
  
 

It's like looking at someone I've never known.  
  
 

"So it seems." He says, dropping his arms back to his sides, his eyes raking over Harry's face as if he's unsure of something. "What are you doing here?"  
  
 

"I've been worried." Harry answers before carefully slipping his hand into mine, Blaise's gaze snapping over to me for the first time since he pulled the door open. "And we wanted to see you."  
  
 

Blaise's face is frozen. If seeing Harry was a shock, seeing me looks like it's sent him to an early death, like I'm a ghost he's been stalking and dreading all at once. Perhaps I am. "Draco?" He asks, clearing his throat and blinking in disbelief.  
  
 

"Hey Blaise." I smile, squeezing the warm hand in mine for strength. Something about facing him feels akin to facing my past, in a way that's entirely different from when I looked upon Bella again but somehow frighteningly all the same. Maybe because now he seems more like Harry's past, a little slice of old time I can fall into. I think I knew it would all along and that was why I needed to come, to see him, to understand a little bit more of the man standing next to me by looking through a different lens. "Long time."  
  
 

Perhaps I’m after closure but I'm not sure if that's something Harry or I will ever have with all we've been through.  
  
 

"My god you actually found him." He's shifting his gaze between Harry and me, quickly and without really seeing me in the process like he's expecting that one of the times he does it I won't be here and the world will be righted again. "When...where?"  
  
 

"Thailand, a few months back." Harry replies and bites his bottom lip, silently waiting for Blaise to stop shaking his head like he's trying to get rid of us from his doorstep. "Blaise?"  
  
 

"Yeah, I...just bloody hell." Blaise reaches out and grasps the cut brick of the doorframe with a tight fist. "I need a minute." He finally mutters, looking slightly dazed and a little sickly. Then with a deep breath he pushes straight past us and hops over the low fence separating his house from the terraced fields beyond.  
  
 

"That went well." I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose and watching as my old friend's shadowy figure sways across the land like he's lost his footing.  
  
 

"It did actually." Harry murmurers, looking down at his own feet for a moment. "I'm going to go talk to him." He drags a hand through his hair and glances back up at me, pressing forward on his toes to place a quick kiss against my lips. "Wait here for a minute?" I nod, my fingers working on tying his muted red scarf back round his neck with nimble, mindless fingers as he smiles. "I'll be right back...maybe, actually it might take a bit, Blaise is..."  
  
 

"I know." I chuckle.  
  
 

"Oh, right." He blushes and toys with my fingers that are still on his knotted scarf. "So you'll wait?"  
  
 

"You know you don't have to be so nervous every time you go off on your own." I mutter, brushing my thumb over his cold cheek. "I'm not going anywhere remember? You're stuck with me now."  
  
 

"Thank god for that." He grins and with a quick glance over his shoulder at Blaise's now still form off in the distance, throws his arms over my shoulders and places a devastating kiss on my lips that has his cheeks tinged with a deeper pink by the time he pulls away.  
  
 

"You're stalling." I point out, catching my breath and easing my hands from where they had automatically wound around him.  
  
 

"No." He shakes his head, then stops. "Well yes actually but I'm done now." Harry smiles and steps back from me, walking backwards down the sodden path. "I like this look by the way."  
  
 

"What look?"  
  
 

"The, I'm a bit jealous but trying not to be so I'm just going to kiss him stupid in the span of three seconds to prove it, look." His smile turns into a grin as I narrow my eyes, my arms crossing over my chest in defiance.  
  
 

"You kissed me." I point out.  
  
 

He shakes his head rapidly, his hand on the fence Blaise hopped over a moment ago. "No, I hugged you, you're the one who turned up the heat." And with that he springs over the wooden railing and disappears down the field. "Not that I'm complaining!" He shouts back at me before he's out of earshot.  
  
 

I frown, thinking back and realizing with a blush that he's right. I did kiss him, pushing one hand against his neck and the other roughly grasping his arse, like I was marking my territory or something - instinctual. But was it out of jealousy? I don't think I'm jealous, I know I have no reason to be, and seeing Blaise nearly suffocate Harry in his delight in seeing him was...odd but it didn't stir a monster of possession.  
  
 

Not in that sort of way.  
  
 

It was more painful for a completely different reason.  
  
 

Harry reaches Blaise in the field and I see them turn towards each other, an expanse between them that seems telling. It's about the size of me. Funny that I'm the thing that brought them together and broke them apart. I can't help but wonder what would have become of Blaise if I had never left, if I hadn't fled the hospital but instead had tracked down Harry and waited for his release. Would things have turned out better or worse for him? For all of us.  
  
 

"Hello."  
  
 

I nearly jump at the softly voiced greeting from behind me and turning sharply I see a small framed woman with thick black hair and dirty cheeks in colorfully blended clothing draped over her lithe form. Her skin is that of leather from hours in the direct sun, her smile faint and yet welcoming. "Hi, sorry I'm here to see Blaise." I say, pointing over my shoulder. "I'm an old friend."  
  
 

She smiles wider and shakes her head lightly. "Rekha." She places a hand on her chest, pointing at herself, her voice thick with the accent of the Nepalese people.  
  
 

"Draco." I indicate my own chest in return, wondering how much English she knows. "Are you Blaise's...?" I trail off, uncertain of what to ask. His wife, his maid, his companion, his helper?  
  
 

"Blaise." She nods again, holding up her hand that holds a slim gold ring. "Wife, yes."  
  
 

I stare at the ring and smile. "Oh, right. Nice to meet you." I shift on my feet, uncertain where to go from here.  
  
 

"Yes." She hasn't stopped nodding and smiling. "In, have tea."  
  
 

"Alright." I follow her already retreating back into the small house, taking in the crude furniture and simplistic living that I never expected Blaise to find comfort in. But it's warm inside and smells like smoke and spice and there's something comforting in that. With one last peek at the pair in the field I shut the door after me - trying to keep a steadiness to my thoughts and let them hash out whatever needs to be dealt with.  
  
 

For Harry's sake if nothing else.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
"I thought he was mental you know." Blaise shakes his head, barely glancing up at me as I come to stand next to him in the field, the sun setting low in the sky and casting a beautiful display of colors.  
  
 

"Harry?" I quip, shoving my hands into my jackets pockets and staring over his head at the orange streaking across the blue like it's been painted on.

Harry had come back from the field two hours later, his skin pink and his fingers frozen around a nearly finished cigarette but otherwise more relaxed than he has been in several days. He had greeted Rekha - who turned out to barely speak English but was rather wonderful company besides, warm and caring and soothing - with great delight and murmured to me that Blaise wanted to talk to me and then sat down to a bowl of steaming stew with profuse gratitude.  
  
 

He hadn't said what they had been discussing and I didn't ask. Don't really know if I want to know.  
  
 

"Yeah." Blaise scratches at his head, his thick curls tangling easily around his coarse fingers. "You should have seen him the first day they brought him into the hospital. His hands were bleeding and there were shards of glass in the cuts. He was crying and screaming before they strapped him down and put him to sleep. I watched from a crack in the wardrobe. I had never had a roommate. Imagine my surprise when the lunatic they drug in turned out to be non-other than Harry Saint Potter. Defeater of the Dark Lord, Savior of all, in my room with dozens of Healers gathered around him. They cleaned his wounds, healed them, scrubbed him clean, and left. Just like that. Forgotten rather quickly it seemed."  
  
 

"Why were you there?" I ask quietly, noticing with an acute awareness that he hasn't turned to face me yet, like he can't quite bring himself to look on me.  
  
 

But he doesn't seem to hear me or maybe he does and chooses to ignore my question, continuing on in a droning voice like he's speaking to the wind. "I stayed in my dark corner of the wardrobe for hours, watching him through the crack before coming out. I hated being in that room, it made me itch all over. But I couldn't resist. He was so very still with the thick straps holding him down, of course they were useless now that he was magically unconscious. But the Healers left them on anyway as if they were afraid he'd wake and kill them all...I never liked him much you know."  
  
 

"I know." I reply even though I don't think he was really looking for confirmation as I realize what he's doing. He's processing, he's telling his story in a way to cope with our sudden appearance. It's strange seeing Blaise do it when he used to be so quiet and reserved and aloof. And I don't particularly want to hear it but I have a feeling it's a sort of punishment for me as well. Punishment for Harry choosing me over him. Which means this will get painful, Blaise always knew how to cut right to the heart.

But this is what I came here for, wasn’t it? To probe the wound and see if it stinks? Or to let it finally close over and heal. I like to think the latter.  
  
 

"Hated him really, he was such a pathetic Half-blood." He murmurs and glances at me from the very corner of his eye. "That was the one thing we really had in common wasn't it? I mean Merlin Draco, you spent your entire time at Hogwarts trying to make his life as miserable as possible and then he wakes up and what does he do? He starts shouting for the Healers and demanding information about you until they had to knock him out again. I thought I was going mad all over again. But he woke up the next day and did it again and again until the stupid git finally realized that it only made them knock him out to shut him up." Blaise pauses and stares at me for a long minute, almost like he's sizing me up.  
  
 

I stay perfectly still and silent, waiting for him continue.  
  
 

"I couldn't stand that he was there, in my room, looking like I felt. I liked to watch him sleep though. He was peaceful in a way that seemed abnormal in the Ward. Then one day he woke up and didn't start thrashing against the straps and screaming his damn head off. He just laid there and stared at the ceiling for hours it seemed before very, very quietly saying my name. I didn't answer, didn't come out of the wardrobe but he knew I was there and he just started talking. He told me about the last year he had spent hunting relics for some reason and to my complete shock he told me you had been with him. I laughed at that I remember. It was the first time I had laughed since before the war. It was so...ridiculous."  
  
 

"It is a bit isn't it?" I smile a little, not at Blaise or his tone of voice or anything he’s saying but at the memory of those days – days that seemed too hard at the time but now have the glow of heaven around them.  
  
 

"A bit? That's an understatement." He snorts, his voice deep and rough. "You are a Malfoy, a Death Eater, to hear you had been traipsing around the countryside with that pathetic trio was just insanity. Just think while you were making nice with Potter I was being held captive along with my Mother. Our circumstances were rather dire and in the end she sold me for her freedom. I don't remember much of the war, really."  
  
 

"Blaise, I'm sorry." I take a careful step forward and stop as he looks sharply away from me.  
  
 

"I don't want your pity." He lets out a bitter chuckle. "Besides it didn't turn out so well for you in the end, did it? At least that was what Harry wouldn't shut up about. He talked about you constantly like he was trying to remember every little detail in this twitchy little way that just made him look like he'd lost his marbles and wouldn't ever get them back but the nights were worse. They had to medicate him to get him to sleep and then an hour into it he'd start screaming. I don't know if it was the sound or the fact that he kept calling for you like he was trying to personally torment me but I snapped one night and smothered him with his own pillow because of it. The guards stopped me in time and they nearly moved him to a different room."  
  
 

"Why didn't they?" I ask, taken aback by this revelation and sick at the explanation of Harry's first days there.  
  
 

"Harry wanted to stay and for some crazy reason they let him." He shrugs like it meant nothing to him but I can see differently, I can tell that it did and I would bet anything that that was the moment he started to thaw towards his fellow mental patient. "After that he was much quieter, at least while he was conscious. He would sit on the opposite side of the wardrobe from me sometimes. He talked the Healers out of touching me and letting me take my own potions instead of them forcing it down my throat. He..."  
  
 

"Grew on you?" I supply and Blaise smiles faintly and nods.  
  
 

"Yeah, you could say that. When he was released and left me alone again I quickly realized how much I needed him and I knew I needed to get out or I'd die in that blasted room. I really shouldn't have been surprised to find out that he had gone off after you when I managed my release but I was. God I hated you then. Hated that he was running after you when you had left him. I thought you were nuts and I...I wanted to smack some sense into him and then kill you. Of course he didn't listen, he never did when it came to you, Merlin you'd think the sun revolved around you from the way he spoke. It was the nights, once again, that were the worst though..." He grumbles as I picture him finding his freedom only to chase after Harry as Harry chased after me.  
  
 

Oh the messes we make.  
  
 

"Why?" I prompt through a suddenly tight throat, guilt and pain and sorrow building a tangle of emotions inside me.  
  
 

He turns to face me fully for the first time, tilting his head and narrowing his long thin eyes, making him look incredibly intimidating. "He had this book. It was filled with pictures, yeah? Page after page of your smiling and scowling face and there was this one that he was constantly taking out, unfolding and staring at it for hours when he couldn't sleep, which was more often than not. I would pretend to be passed out and on more than one occasion, well, you know what he would do?" He pauses and arches an eyebrow at me, clearly wanting me to answer this time.  
  
 

I feel my pulse speed up as I stare back at him, near positive that I don't want to hear this, that I may be very well tempted to punch him in a minute, that this is the part he sinks the blade into its hilt - and I desperately try to remind myself that we are all broken and have done things that would be questionable and regarded as wrong on the outside. I have to remember that. But this won't be about running or quietly spiraling down or even murder, I somehow know this will be completely personal.

"Blaise, don't."

Blaise smiles a bit manically, reminding me of my own when faced with my worst nightmare. "Don't want to hear it? Why, because everything's so perfect for you now? Because you have him back and all is good in Draco's little world again, you selfish prick. Well I'm going to tell you anyway. The first time was an accident. I didn't mean to catch him, I woke up and heard something and got up to follow the sound. The stupid latch on the crappy hotel's bathroom door never locked all the way and I could see him through the crack." He laughs and drops his gaze for just a second. "Like we were back in the hospital. Except this time he was smiling with his head thrown back against the wall, one hand clutching that damn picture and the other working his cock. I stared at him, seized with a sudden urge to take over for him and enthralled with the look on his face...then he finished and for a second he looked truly happy like I hadn't ever seen him."  
  
 

"Stop now." I grind out, closing my eyes to keep my composure, pained from not only hearing about Harry but in hearing Blaise's actions that crossed too many lines.  
  
 

"No, because you know what he did next? He cried. He always cried after and that's when I truly started despising every hair on your damn head because he'd rather have his own hand and his fantasy of you that only ever made him more depressed in the end than me. Who was with him, who chased after him, who was fucking flesh and bone and not some bloody photograph of a sickly sweet kiss in the damn snow. You don't deserve him." He finishes with a bite to his words like he's challenging me, daring me to contradict him.  
  
 

"I know I don't." I hold his gaze and fight against the conflict inside me. "Trust me on that."  
  
 

Blaise sucks in a deep breath and blinks slowly, almost like he's deflating right before my eyes. "And yet here you are."  
  
 

"Harry...there's no convincing him otherwise and…I need him." I try to explain in as little words as possible, knowing there's no way to explain all that's happened to me over the years. Even if I tried I don't think I could adequately make him see. "He sees the best in everyone." He always has.  
  
 

He smiles slowly, fondly, a smile that's not for me but for the man in the house with his wife - a wife I hope he loves and has found some happiness with. "And you? Do you love him too?" He asks and it feel's oddly protective, especially after what he just told me.  
  
 

I nod, slowly, once. "Yes."  
  
 

He closes his dark eyes and when he opens them again it's like the fire inside has shifted. "Have you told him?"  
  
 

I hesitate for a moment before opening my mouth and answering. "No, not in so many words."  
  
 

The hand that lands on my shoulder is so unexpected that I jump a little, surprised by the soft and yet firm squeeze of his long fingers. "He's not like us Draco, he won't think you weak for it."  
  
 

"I know." It's weird being so close to him after feeling all the emotions rolling so vibrantly off him since coming out to the field. I can't tell if he's accepting me or not, if he's okay with my being here but it feels like maybe, just maybe he is. Or will be.  
  
 

"Then man up and just do it, there will never be a perfect time for it, it will never get easier, not for people like us."  
  
 

"Funny advice coming from you." I mutter, feeling my heart squeeze with equal yearning and fear.  
  
 

Blaise smiles and shrugs again. "Harry left and it hurt and sometimes I wonder..." he trails off then shakes his head, clearing the wandering thought from it. “I have Rekha now and yes, there's a part of me that wants to beat you senseless but, well, he was never mine was he?"  
  
 

"Perhaps he should have been." I return his unsure smile, understanding with near perfection where he's coming from.  
  
 

"I couldn't agree more. I know I'll never understand how in the world you managed to make him fall for you but I think...I can be happy for you." He squeezes my shoulder once more before letting his hand fall back to his side. "Did Harry ever give you my letter?" He asks, eyeing me a bit wearily now.  
  
 

I nod, pulling the folded, unopened envelope from my back pocket. "Yes. I haven't been able to make myself open it yet though."  
  
 

Blaise stares at it for a moment before tearing his eyes away. "Do me a favor? Destroy it instead."  
  
 

"Why?" I glance down at the white paper that I've been so near to breaking open so many times but never coming quite close enough.  
  
 

"Just trust me." He replies cryptically and with a half-smile he turns to walk back towards the house that's glowing softly in the distance now. "Oh and Draco? I'm glad he found you, truly. He deserves to be happy." And with that he walks away with his hands in his pockets, back towards his life and his wife and Harry.  
  
 

I stare after him, feeling mildly like I have whiplash from the way he was yanking back and forth. But I find, with a smudge of resignation, that I'm glad he told me all of it - that he vented his hurt on me and let it spill out, hopefully opening him up a little wider for something new. But I'm not only happy for him but for myself. I needed to hear it from him I think and now I can push it aside as well and start letting go of any guilt.  
  
 

Glancing down at the envelope, I hold it up by the corner and wave my other hand over it, watching it spark and catch fire - burning up the letters and bitterness inside as it turns to ash and floats to the muddy ground.  
  
 

Time to move on.  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
"What are you doing? Is everything alright? What did Blaise say?"  
  
 

"Quiet." I shush as I lead Harry out of the dark and still house, away from Blaise's quiet snores and the rustling of Rekha as she twists and turns on the straw mattress.  
  
 

It's black outside, the moon shining silver and the stars making pocks of light high above us as I haphazardly lead Harry around the house and out into the field - retracing my steps mentally towards the little rock ledge cut out of the mountain side.

  
  
"It's cold." Harry grumbles, his voice still groggy from the sleep I had pulled him from, as he huddles closer to my side. "Are you at least going to tell me where we're going."  
  
 

"We're here." I reply, turning to squint at him in the dark, the light of the moon casting a soft shadow across his face.  
  
 

He looks around and frowns. "...Okay. Are you going to tell me what's going on now? Did something happen with Blaise earlier? You two seemed rather tense when you got back."  
  
 

"It's not about Blaise." I reassure him and pull him into my arms.  
  
 

"Are you sure because I know he was upset and I told him to-"  
  
 

"Harry." I interrupt his rapidly spoken words. "Shut up. Everything's fine I just wanted to tell you something."  
  
 

"Oh, okay." He stares at me with some apprehension and I can understand why, it's not every day I drag him out of bed and off into the elements in the middle of the night. But I can't sleep and Blaise's voice from earlier keeps swimming around and around in my head and I had to do something. Have to do this. Now. I’m tired of running from it and keeping it pushed down. "What is it?"  
  
 

"My family doesn't do sentimental emotions. It's considered a weakness. We don't acknowledge them, we don't even name them so as not to give them any power over us." I start and Harry's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Malfoy's are to be stoic and calm and always composed."  
  
 

Harry snickers and leans into my chest a little. "Really?"  
  
 

"I'm being serious." I grumble and he stops chuckling straight away.  
  
 

"Right, stoic, sorry. Go on." He sets a straight face, with the muscles in the corner of his lips twitching from the effort.  
  
 

"I should have done this a long time ago, I know that." I continue, running my fingers along his arm until I reach his hand curled around my neck. Taking it in mine, I pull it back and brush my thumb over the Malfoy ring that he still wears every night and day.

He asked once, as were packing to leave, if I wanted it back with a shy nervousness. I didn't even dignify it was answer, just kissed the skin above the ring lightly, smiled softly, and went back to packing. I was tempted to tell him then how much he means to me and that I want to never see his finger naked again but I didn't. Once again I couldn’t make my lips move to form the words, couldn’t make myself say the things I feel. But Blaise is right and tonight I rectify that.

"But I didn't because... I admire you're fearlessness Harry, your open audacity to do whatever you need to do or say to get what you want. You’re not afraid of your desires. You know what you want and you go and get it, it's a trait that's never come easy to me I must admit."  
  
 

"Is this about the other night, when I asked you to...with the chocolate and my tie?" He asks, looking mildly embarrassed and confused at the same time. "...And the leather." He adds on in a whisper like it's a secret that he shouldn't be telling me even though I was the one doing it with him.  
  
 

I laugh, folding my fingers around his. "God no, but I find it funny that that is where you're mind went straight off."  
  
 

He blushes and glances at our entwined hands resting on my shoulder, the silver ring just barely visible. "Best just say it straight off then, I think I'm too tired for subtlety."  
  
 

I take a deep breath and push past twenty-seven years of repression, capturing his gaze and holding it locked in my own. "I love you Harry and I know it's silly and ridiculous to have drug you out here to say the obvious but I can't help it. I do, I love you and I needed to tell you." He's completely still and for a moment it almost seems as if he didn't hear me, like I hadn't actually been able to speak out loud and only said it in my head...again. "Harry?"  
  
 

"One more time." Harry's voice is a ghost in the night, his eyes wide and his breath held tightly in his chest.  
  
 

I place my hand along the curve of his jaw and angle his head up, my lips brushing his as I keep my eyes on his. "I love you."  
  
 

He grins as he bites into his bottom lip, pressing up fully against me. "I love you too." He whispers and then he's laughing, a breathy warm sound that thrills through me before I'm kissing him, drowning out the sound only to replace it with the deeper vibrations of his groans in the night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, sorry for the long wait, again. My computer crashed and that through me through a funk with my writing and posting. SO SORRY. There's only an epilogue after this and then it's all over. Thank you so much to everyone whose stuck with this!


	26. Epilogue: Make Me Complete

  
  
  
  
**Several months later**  
  
  
  
The ocean rolls in with white foaming waves that lap at the speckled sand, dampening it, darkening it, and leaving a rounding pattern behind before it retreats back to where it belongs. It surges up and out with a soft, muted crash that's muffled by the thick enchanted window to keep any cold from seeping in - sheltering me from the harsh winter air that smells of salt.  
  
 

I never liked the ocean and yet now I find it calming, my pulse rising and falling with the waves, a slow methodical repetition.  
  
 

It makes me wonder why I shied away from it on all my travels, the repetition in it so beautiful, the lifting and falling of the air so lovely, like it has its own heartbeat - breathing in and out around me.  
  
 

"I still can't believe you like it here so much." Harry murmurs from behind me, the old wood creaking beneath his feet as he drops the heavy bag from his shoulder and comes to stand beside me. "Could have sworn you once forbade me from living anywhere near the ocean."  
  
 

"I changed my mind." I say, smiling at him softly from the corner of my mouth.  
  
 

"Obviously." He murmurs, rubbing his hands together like he's cold. "We need a fire."  
  
 

I laugh a little, letting my hand fall from the cool glass of the window, watching my foggy hand print stand stark and clear before slowly seeping away. "We need everything."  
  
 

It had seemed like a good idea when we left Thailand not to bring any of my belongings but my little box of trinkets - minus a few items - and a handful of clothes. I wanted a clean break from it, wanted to start out new again, didn't want to tempt myself with falling back into old habits or carry around any reminders that might form a noose around my neck. It had even seemed like a good idea as we traveled around for several months, revisiting places we had been before but separately - the landscape somehow new and more welcoming and brighter then I remembered them being.  
  
 

Of course I didn't tell Harry that, no need to make him laugh and tease me about being a sentimental sap again.  
  
 

Coming back to England on the other hand was a challenge, one I wasn't sure I was up to. Harry had stood in the middle of our hotel room in Barcelona, looking so vastly nervous I had known instantly our time of traveling around and pretending nothing else existed was coming to a close, no matter how loath I was to admit it. I remember the way he had stammered, clutching a letter to his chest before finally blurting out that Weasley's and Granger's wedding was drawing near. Even though I had known our return was inevitable I still wasn't ready to give up our isolation, but staring at Harry, chewing nervously on his lip with his eyes rounded behind his glasses, looking both anxious and hopeful - I couldn't say no.  
  
 

I had smiled and agreed, quietly swallowing my trepidation. I'm sure Harry saw it though as he rather enthusiastically tried to sooth my nerves for the next several hours. And perhaps his own as well.  
  
 

We didn't portkey or Apparate back home. We took a train and then walked the rest of the way. London, the home of so many memories both good and bad for both of us, had loomed before us and we had stopped and just stared at the smoggy skyline for an undefinable amount of time. Then with a squeeze of our hands we had stepped foot back where I never intended to return, our arrival quiet and unheralded, going unnoticed by everyone . It felt like we were seeping onto the edge of a canvas, drawing ourselves into a famous picture that's been finished for ages. I don't think I'll ever really feel at home in its streets again, not like I used to anyway.  
  
 

Of course the Prophet was relentless the moment they realized Harry was back on English soil. The day after we arrived we stepped out the door of the flat Granger had secured for us, intending to visit his friends only to be bombarded by flashing cameras and shouted questions that ranged from curiosity of where he had been, to speculation, to accusation, to wondering rather loudly why he was holding my hand. We had stayed for all of two minutes before Harry cursed under his breath and Apparated us away.  
  
 

I couldn't catch my breath after that, not for a long time, almost like they had stolen it and refused to give it back - reminding me too much of tunneling down into the pit with their bright lights that snapped then cast my eyes in darkness. It was the first time since our fight with Bella and Madame Safiya that I feared the shadows and for a moment myself. But the difference was it passed and when I got my breathing under control and looked around I was in Granger's living room with Harry's hands on my face and reassurance on his lips. I didn't try to push down my shaken state so he couldn't see it nor did I tense and try to pull away when he kissed me full on the mouth directly in front of his friends.  
  
 

Instead I pulled in the strength he was offering and filled myself full with it.   
  
 

The next morning the picture splayed across the front page was a gigantic photo of us, blinking dazedly before Harry turned towards me and popped us out of existence. Of course they latched onto that, debating the nature of our relationship which rather amusingly had Harry fuming as he ranted about blind intruding nutters and Weasley pretending that the carpet was suddenly vastly interesting - again, something he's taken to doing rather frequently since Harry's become more openly affectionate.  
  
 

It was amazing the amount of letters that came the same day. He didn't open any of them, tossing the lot in the fire and ignoring the few Howlers that burst to life before igniting and burning to their death. Only two were saved from the flames, one from the elder Weasley's inviting him over for dinner and the second from Seamus Finnigan of all people, welcoming him back with only a slightly vulgar yet good natured comment about said photograph.  
  
 

The Irish man actually sounded smug in it, like he had known since we were kids that we would end up together.  
  
 

I had managed to talk Harry into letting me skip dinner with his adopted family, with the promise that I'd attend once he officially tells them about us and if they extend an invitation. He was gone for five hours during which time I read, paced, did my warm up routine followed by some vigorous shadow boxing, and all and all trying to get used to the feeling of being alone again. Funny how quickly I've grown used to Harry's near constant presence and how very still and quiet everything is without him - like the very room is holding its breath and waiting for his return. When he came back, reeking of gravy and spices, he had immediately climbed onto the couch with me and proceeded to show me just how much he missed me.  
  
 

Sometimes I can't help but think we're a bit pathetic and needy and altogether much too obsessed but then...I open my eyes and Harry's still beside me, solid and warm and real and all I can do is grin and kiss him again - happy in our deliriously nomadic existence together. Maybe one day the need with lesson, maybe one day I'll crave him less...but I doubt it and if that's the biggest price I pay for my mistakes well, then I'll count myself unbelievably lucky.  
  
 

The reporters found us the second time outside Granger's place and were even louder and more aggressive than before, demanding answers like he owed them something - like his disappearance and subsequent return with me was an affront against them personally. I didn't feel shaken that time, I felt angry. Angry at how they've treated him - demanding that a blasted eleven year old save them, then proceeding to lock him away when he grew up and did just that, ashamed with how he didn't come through unscathed. And as the lights flashed and the questions flew I couldn't help but wonder if this was another part of the reason Harry left, to get away from this, from the near constant spectacle they are likely to make his life into.  
  
 

And now, by association, my life.  
  
 

Harry had stayed remarkably composed throughout it. He had glared and stayed miraculously silent before grumbling something to himself, grabbing me, and smashing a harsh kiss to my unprepared lips.  
  
 

"Misinterpret that." He had snapped to the shocked audience after ravishing my mouth rather thoroughly.  
  
 

When I asked him later why he did that he said he didn't want to dance around the subject for months, that it was better to just get it out in the open and let the flame burst and die before the wedding. I haven't decided if I agree or not, still rather uneasy with anyone knowing anything about my personal life, but the picture the next day was rather spectacular. There was something breathtaking about seeing how Harry kisses from the outside perspective - his intensity and passion shining through with every little slide of his lips and move of his body.  
  
 

He looked like elation and lust incarnate.  
  
 

From then on we spent as little time in London as possible.  
  
 

Finding the house had been a fluke.  
  
 

It's small, a simple cottage with a thatched roof, three rooms with a small single space upstairs, windows and floors that would leak blinding cold in the winter and unbearable heat in the summer if not for the wards protecting it. We had run across it on a hike we had been taking in order to get away from everyone, the little house catching my attention from across the cove, its homely structure sitting on the opposite shore. It was old and nearly falling down and I should have just moved on from it but I couldn't.  
  
 

I had grabbed Harry's hand and Apparated us both over onto its front porch, walked through its abandoned door, and explored its rundown expanse with glee - it was almost like being away again, with nothing but us. It was too perfect, Harry's nose red from the cold and a laugh on his full lips and everything else seemed wonderfully far away. The floor creaked under each step and made him bounce a little because of it in childlike joy and I couldn't stop myself from pushing Harry as he giggled against the door to the single bathroom and taking him quick and hard with his shirt hitched up and his jeans pulled down to his knees - his cheek smashed against the old fading wood, leaving bruises on his hips and bite marks on his shoulder.  
  
 

He bought it the next day and handed me the key with a sheepish grin and the simple explanation of, "can't let something so perfect go to waste now can we?"    
  
 

Harry glances down at his bag and then around him, taking in the one rickety chair and the old wardrobe with one of the door's missing. "True. We should probably go shopping, at the very least for a damn blanket."  
  
 

Tugging him into my arms I feel the chill in his skin suck out my warmth, making me hold him all the tighter. "We have one in the bag." We just got here, Granger and Weasley just left, and there's no way I'm leaving to enter the chaos of London or Diagon Alley for something so inconsequential.  
  
 

He frowns, placing his palms flat against my chest. "We do but it's small."  
  
 

"Cozy." I argue, stealing a quick kiss.  
  
 

"Minuscule and only romantic when it's warm and it's not, its bloody freezing."  
  
 

"But thick." I nibble on his ear and he tries not to melt against me. I love feeling him fight against his physician reactions to my very touch, it’s like a drug, and one I grow more and more addicted to as time wears on.  
  
 

"Not anymore remember, I knocked over that candle and accidentally lit half of it on fire." He reminds me, pushing a little against my chest and wiggling halfheartedly to break free.  
  
 

"But you put it out."  
  
 

"You're in an arguing mood aren't you? It's a tiny, fire spotted, flannel blanket that won't possibly keep us warm tonight." He tries to give me an exasperated look but doesn't quite manage, yelping instead as I rub my palm roughly over his backside, grasping the curve of his arse - his little shiver urging me on.  
  
 

"There's other ways to keep warm." I murmur against his neck before applying suction just under his jaw.  
  
 

"This cottage makes you randy." He gasps, gripping my shoulders and letting his head fall back and to the side.  
  
 

I shake my head, slipping my hand around his side to tug at the fastening of his belt. "It's not the cottage." I inform him as I tug the long black strip of leather free with a loud crack, his hips jerking with the force of it.  
  
 

"Oh? Ohhh." His eyelashes flutter enticingly as I plunge my hand down his pants and smirk as I wrap my hand around his already straining length, my stomach flipping as he wavers. "What is it then?"  
  
 

"You've been gone nearly all day the last few days." I trail my lips over his neck, feeling myself harden more fully as I hold him thick and hot in my hand. "I might have missed you."  
  
 

"Might?" He turns his head a fraction to meet my lips and lets his tongue drag along mine in a slow, sensual kiss.  
  
 

"Granger's not as good company." I run my fingers through his hair and grip the locks firmly.  
  
 

"I agree." He bucks his hips and nips at my bottom lip. "If we're confessing I may as well tell you that I might have missed you too."  
  
 

"Might?" I arch an eyebrow and he grins.  
  
 

"Definitely. Ron isn't as nice to look at and there's only so much talk I can endure about Hermione's breasts."  
  
 

"So you've been out all day with the groom to be, discussing breasts apparently, and I've been stuck with the bride and now their finally gone and we're alone...still want to go shopping?" I snicker, twitching my wrist a little.  
  
 

He bites his lip and tires not to groan. "What are my options?" He asks, opening his eyes that had fallen sharply shut, the dark shade of green that meets me giving away just how much he doesn't want to leave anymore.  
  
 

"Limited and unfortunately if you still want to go I'll just have to get creative with your belt to keep you here." His breath stutters as he glances down to my other hand still holding his belt. He doesn't move or breathe for several seconds as he blinks rapidly and I have to hold back a chuckle. I can tell he's debating his answer, leaning heavily towards pretending to want to leave so I will tie him up. "Of course, if I'm honest." I murmur, stepping closer to him and pulling my hand free from his pants as he huffs in protest. "I'd rather you have the use of your hands this time."  
  
 

He looks up at me and licks his lips. "Oh?"  
  
 

"Mhmm." I lean down and brush my lips over his while he whimpers, letting the belt fall to the floor as he warps himself around me. "But if you're a good boy I promise to tie you to the banister later."  
  
 

He nods vigorously and grinds his hips into mine. "Stop teasing."  
  
 

"And?" I prompt, taking my wand from my pocket and quickly Transfiguring the chair in the corner into a thin mattress before dropping it beside the strip of leather, my pulse thundering in my ears like it always does when he looks at me like this - like fire that will surely consume me.  
  
 

"And it's the first night in our new home, so you better make it memorable." Harry grins and pulls me with him down onto the new bed lying innocently on the floor.  
  
 

I don't think I'll ever forget our first night in our cottage by the sea. It swings with quick and glorious movements that hit just right every time, to an unearthly high before turning incredibly slow. It's filled with lingering touches that juxtapose our heated kisses, unbelievable heat that encompasses us as the first snow starts falling out our window, his legs hooked around my hips with his heels digging into my back and the long curve of his neck exposed as he gasps and shudders beneath me - alternatively grasping at the bed, the wall, and me as we rock towards completion only to claw for control and edge back away from it.  
  
 

It's perfect torture.  
  
 

And with our bodies coated in sweat, my face in the crook on his neck and my thumb tracing his wet bottom lip, he cries out in both pleasure and need. "God Draco, You're taking memorable to a whole new extreme." He gasps, arching his back and pushing his hand into the wall behind him for leverage, licking my thumb as he does so.  
  
 

"Still think we need the blanket?" I whisper, licking the sweat off his neck and angling my thrusts once more to drag across his prostate.  
  
 

"Goddamn fuck!" He hisses. "I thought I said stop teasing." He jerks his hips up and down, tightening his legs with the muscles in his thighs squeezing me sharply.  
  
 

"You better stop or I'll get the belt you were so interested in and strap your hips down." I warn him, edging out of his clenching hole until only the tip of my cock is still stretching him open.  
  
 

"You're cruel." He pouts, letting his body sag back down into the mattress.  
  
 

"No." I rebut, snapping forward and burying myself fully inside him once more, jabbing his sweet spot and making a strangled noise erupt from his throat. "I just love watching your face when you're so close to coming."  
  
 

"Well you've been watching it for like an hour." He shudders again as I pull out and slam back in, his mouth dropping open into a wide 'o'. "Sometimes I hate your stamina."  
  
 

"No you don't, you're too much of a slut." I smile against his throat, reaching up to entwine my hands with his, loving the feel of his fingers curling sharply around mine with a coiled tension that matches the ebb and flow of the pleasure building in his body. "You love it." I whisper hotly into his ear, his deep groan vibrating through my chest.  
  
 

He turns his head and captures my lips, kissing me wetly with panting kisses as he shudders beneath me, rising in anticipation of each thrust.  "I am not - oh! - a slut." He grinds out, barely managing to keep his head from hitting the wall as I thrust sharply forward, but there's a spark in his gaze and a hitch in his chest as his cock twitches between us that reminds me just how much he likes being told such things - no matter how much he argues to the opposite. I never really thought he would and it's so far from the truth that it's almost laughable but there's no denying his reaction to it and I find I rather like making that look come into his eye. "You do realize I've only ever slept with you right?"  
  
 

I realized some months ago what it was, what fueled that look, its surrender. He likes it when I hold his control in my hands and use it to demonstrate just how much I desire him. He likes his hands tied and knowing I'll only drive him towards pleasure, he likes his eyes blindfolded knowing it will still be me when it's taken away, he likes being commanded until my voice is rough with need and I take him hard, he likes being called the things he's not and still having me tell him I love him in the next breath.  
  
 

And I get it, it’s for all the same reasons I like doing it all to him. Because as much as he needs to surrender and lay back and know I'm not going anywhere, I need him willing to let me have that control - to trust me enough to know it will always be okay and that I won't run. It's all those exact reasons he loves being made loved to slowly, wrapped tightly in my arms with our lips brushing and our eyes locked as well.  
  
 

Sex with Harry is always an adventure because it's all surrender, every little moment, it's what we need and crave and is therefore always shattering.  
  
 

I graze my teeth along his neck and hum in agreement. "And that's how it will stay because you're my slut aren't you?" Lifting my head, I lock gazes with him and fight against the desperate urge to kiss his swollen lips, lips that are thick and red and abused from the obscene amount of time they spent wrapped around my cock before I pushed him over and slid inside him.  
  
 

"Yes." He breathes and whimpers as I pick up my pace just a little.  
  
 

"You love being fucked." I press on, demanding he keep his eyes open and steady on mine with just a look.  
  
 

"Mhmm yes."  
  
 

"Yes what?"  
  
 

Tugging on my neck, he kisses me deeply before his head snaps back against the bare mattress with a shout. "Yes! I love it when you fuck me."  
  
 

Rising up till I'm sitting straight up with his legs over my thighs and his arse in my lap, I hold his legs apart and look down at myself sliding in and out of his red, clenching hole, disappearing into his impossibly tight heat with a little dying sound of pleasure each and every time from Harry. "Want me to keep going?"  
  
 

He nods and clamors at the wall again, desperate for purchase but unable to find it as I jerk him forward with each inward push and pull him back in quick succession. "Please." He groans and lifts his legs a little, opening himself up wider.  
  
 

I stop moving with great difficulty and run my hands up his sides. "Then clench around my cock and jerk yourself off." He hisses and wraps his hand around his hard member that's leaking profusely against his stomach but then hesitates, looking up at me uncertainly. "I want to watch you." I explain at his unspoken question. "You're so beautiful when you touch yourself but don't worry love, I plan to make it so you can't get up tomorrow."  
  
 

He smiles and with his eyes barely managing to stay open, works his hand up and down as he clamps down around me, pleasure rushing hotly through my veins as I watch him - glistening in the soft light and struggling for air and it isn't long before he's arching off the bed, jerking his hips just enough to impale himself a little more and coming all over himself with a shout.  
  
 

The convulsions of his release around me is almost too much and I find myself counting strategically in my head until the deepest waves of pleasure subside. Leaning down I capture his lips in a demanding kiss as he tries to regain his breath, stealing his air for my own and keeping him panting beneath me, covered in his sticky come. "Beautiful." I murmur against his mouth. "Now I do believe I have a promise to fulfill."  
  
 

His eyes widen almost alarmingly as I pull out and drag him up to his feet with me, his limbs weak and making him wobble in my arms. "You do?"  
  
 

I nod, summoning his belt to my outstretched hand and pulling him with me out of the room and into the hallway. "Time to christen the stairs." I inform him, catching the grin forming on his lips before I press him against the banister.  
  
 

Sometime later when I finally come deep inside him with his hands bound at the base of the railing, with his arse sticking out as he's bent over the banister at an awkward angle with his toes scrapping against the ground, all I can think is that memorable is an understatement.  
  
 

And when he pants that he loves me as we stumble back to the bed and pull him close, I close my eyes and breathe deep with a smile, drifting off into a satisfied sleep knowing he'll be there when I wake.  
  
  
  
  
  
****  
  
  
  
  
  
I never realized how unpractical robes were until now. Unpractical and uncomfortable.  
  
 

The mirror before me is reflecting an image that seems odd and unfitting, long flowing silk of black with a trim of silver in a swirling pattern that reminds me of the night sky and the stars that light it around my wrists, throat, and on either side of the opening in the middle. The collar is high and has been buttoned, unbuttoned, and re-buttoned too many times to keep track. It remains hanging open now, my throat seemingly deathly pale beneath the midnight black, my fingers stark in contrast as I toy with the hundreds of tiny black buttons holding it together. It makes me think of Snape...if he had had any fashion sense at all that is.  
  
  
  
Harry had picked it out. Standing in the robe makers shop, atop the little platform as the wizened old woman measured and pinned and tucked, I had never felt more like I was wearing someone else's skin. I felt like I was living someone else's life and I was the imposture that was sure to be found out. Because the swish of the fabric around my feet threatened to make me trip, the billow of it around my frame if I moved too quickly made me feel slow and sluggish. It all felt wrong. It felt like someone was trying to bind me back and I felt exposed, like I wouldn't be able to defend myself if need be.  
  
 

Oddly enough I felt, feel, stupid. Harry said it makes me look dashing, he had even swallowed thickly and got that look in his eyes right in the middle of the shop - not allowing me to change before taking us home and falling to his knees before me, muttering something about 'stunning' before everything went fuzzy and I couldn't think properly. The robe ended up on the floor then sometime later hung carefully in the new wardrobe, where it has rested until now - I always forget how much of a thing he has for me in all black until I'm dressed head to toe in it and he can’t keep his hands to himself.  
  
 

"This is a disaster." I grumble, tugging at the collar, half convinced it’s going to strangle me the moment I take my eye off it.  
  
 

"You're right I think." Harry hums in agreement, the door I hadn't heard opening swinging softly shut behind him as he comes to stand behind my shoulder, staring at our reflection in the mirror. "Should have gone for the gray." He nods to himself, eyeing me up and down.  
  
 

"Really?" I ask disbelievingly because no matter how much I feel terrible in them, I know Harry doesn't agree.  
  
 

"Yeah." He runs his hands over my sides until he clasps them together on my stomach, leaning his chin on my shoulder. "You're too damn sexy in them, it's going to be hard to keep my hands off you."  
  
 

"I think Weasley will hex your balls off if you try to molest me at his wedding." I arch an eyebrow in the mirror at him, scowling at the near audible swish of the robes as I move just a fraction.  
  
 

Harry smiles with a shrug I can feel more than see. "I think he won't even notice anything after they say their vows."  
  
 

"That randy is he?" I ask, wishing I didn't know that Granger was withholding until the wedding night. What I wouldn't give to have not stumbled in on that conversation between him and Harry.  
  
 

Harry snickers and runs his fingers over my hipbone, eliciting a shiver down my spine despite my sour mood. "Randy? That would be an understatement and stop second guessing the robe, it looks fantastic."  
  
 

"It's not this robe in particular but robes in general." I grumble. "How does one move quickly in them?"  
  
 

Harry laughs and releases me from his embrace. "Can we put a hold on this conversation because I think Ron would get a right kick out of it."  
  
 

"I don't see how it's funny. There so...constricting."  
  
 

"There actually rather loose Draco, that's where all that dreadful swishing you keep complaining about is coming from." Harry corrects me, pinching the fabric at my side and pulling it out to demonstrate his point - making me look like a doll with all the stuffing ripped out.  
  
 

"Not the fit." I snarl, slapping his hand away and turning to scowl at him properly and not just in our reflection. "It's the movement of it, it's too long and there's too much fabric, how am I supposed to-"  
  
 

"Go for a jog? Demonstrate to the wedding guests your impressive Muay Thai skills? Bend over so I can see your lovely arse?" Harry teases, biting his lip against a laugh as I glare at him. "Seriously though all you have to be able to do in them is walk and sit down. I think you'll be able to manage. Who knows maybe it will be like riding a broom and all your previous graceful technique of striding haughtily around will come back to you."  
  
 

"I just think-" I stop, unsure how to word my trepidation, it's just... all wrong and I have no idea how to get that feeling across to Harry - not when this should be a natural transition for me.  
  
 

"You feel like a Malfoy again?" He supplies for me, somehow tapping effortlessly into my thoughts and catching my hand that has started playing absentmindedly with the buttons again, folding my fingers lovingly between his.  
  
 

"Perhaps." I smile softly, brushing a thick curl out of his eye, making a mental note for the hundredth time to give him a haircut - who knows perhaps one of these days if I think about it enough I'll actually be able to go through with it instead of just threading my fingers through it and using it as leverage to pull him into kisses.  
  
 

"It's not a bad thing." He's smiling his reassuring smile, the same one that always comes out when he's beginning to get worried about me. And perhaps it should annoy me with the frequency of its presence but it doesn't. I've found I rather like it because no matter where we are, what he's doing, or who we're with if he senses something’s off his lips curve up just so, his tone dips lightly, and his touch becomes present and gentle. Like a guide in the night, he is my angel.  
  
 

"Perhaps not, I just haven't decided yet."  
  
 

"Decided what?" He tips his head and blinks questioningly behind his glasses, the frames bobbing on his nose and I can't help but reach out and fix them with a soft touch, correcting their position once more.  
  
 

"That's the question now isn't it?" I murmur and he frowns up at me.  
  
 

"You're being vague again." He accuses.  
  
 

I chuckle and turn back towards the mirror, tugging on the hem of my sleeves before fiddling with the collar once more. "True but we don't have time for explanations, Weasley is expecting you."  
  
 

He grimaces but nods in agreement, sagging a bit dramatically into my side, our reflections opposites before us. Whereas I am pale and swathed completely in black, Harry has retained his golden hue somehow even in the dreary winter weather - his own robes a lovely forest green with similar gray trimming that makes his hair look even darker and his eyes somehow brighter. And even if I miss being able to see the curve of his body in his jeans and form fitting shirts, I can't help but acknowledge the graceful way the robes fall against him, the color purely striking against his features.  
  
 

He doesn't look ill at ease in them either I decide as he smiles at our reflections. But then, Harry could make his home anywhere, he's like water, flowing and adopting to any condition.  
  
 

"I'll be happy when this weddings over." He sighs, straightening again and planting a kiss on my cheek before he turns to gather his wool cloak from the wardrobe. "You've heard of bridezilla? Well she’s got nothing on Ron."  
  
 

"That bad?" I smirk, watching as Harry swings the cloak over his shoulders and fastens the thick silver clasp.  
  
 

"Bad?" He snorts, glancing around himself before grabbing his bag from the neatly made bed that's currently housing Granger's wedding band, his speech, and if I could guess I'd say a flask or two. "It's like the lack of sex has driven him mental and he's completely snapped. You know when he firecalled last night?"  
  
 

"How could I forget?" Weasley had popped up in our fireplace at midnight, dragging us from the sleep we'd just managed to fall into and making Harry hop around frantically for his clothes in a desperate hurry because he assumed something was terribly wrong. Like any sane person would when someone calls at such an hour.  
  
 

"It was about flowers. He was panicked about the cold weather and the lilies and something about frost...I don't really know but he's lost it Draco, I didn't even know weddings could do that to guys."  
  
 

I hold back a snicker at Harry's explanation of his best friend, choosing to leave out the fact that the redhead is even driving Granger insane with all his crazy worrying about everything being perfect. "Weasley's always been a bit intense." I reply instead as Harry nods absentmindedly, already lost in his next thought, a clear sign that he’s nervous of miss stepping and having his raging friend come down on him.  
  
 

He's tugging on the strap of his bag and looking around himself once more, worrying his bottom lip as he tries desperately to remember everything. "I'm missing..." He trails off, looking so truly lost that I can't stop the smile from forming on my lips.  
  
 

Plucking the blinding white envelope from Harry's desk in the corner, I hold it up in front of myself. "The contract?" I quip an eyebrow as he spins around to face me.  
  
 

"Oh damn, Hermione would have slaughtered me." He swipes the contracts used in traditional Pureblood marriages - despite the fact that the Weasley's are tying themselves to a muggle born - from my grasp and stuffs it unceremoniously into his bag.  
  
 

"Would serve her right for leaving it with you."  
  
 

"Well it's a good thing I've got you to remind me then, isn't it?" He winks and twists his fingers through his hair, suddenly standing uncharacteristically still, like he's forgotten what he's doing and where he should have been five minutes ago.  
  
 

"Harry?" I step towards him, frowning at the miniscule tremor making his fingers twitch against his scalp.  
  
 

"Yeah?" He blinks and jerks a little, like coming out of a daze. "Sorry just, god I hate large gatherings."  
  
 

Prying his hand out of his hair, I hold his shaking palm tightly to my chest as I lean down and kiss him lightly. "You'll be wonderful."  
  
 

"There's going to be a lot of people, people I haven't seen in...years." His eyes are wide and haunted and I press his hand tighter to my chest, trying to still the tremor with sheer will power.  
  
 

"And you'll be you." I murmur, brushing my lips over his again and again until the shaking eases against me. "You'll be fine."  
  
 

He nods and blows out a breath, letting his eyes slip shut as I move my mouth over his, my fingers caressing the curve of his jaw and the hollow of his throat until the tension flows out his feet. He's gotten better over the last few months, the shaking in his hands diminishing greatly and he hardly even smokes any more - saving them for the thankfully few and far between intense episodes that have been coming less and less. Though there's times like these that he needs something to help him through it and I'm only all too happy to give it to him as I've found that physical touch grounds him in record speed - whether it be a simple caress, a light kiss, or sometimes something much, much more until he's shaking for a very different reason. It’s gotten to the point now that I’m almost able to predict the times where he'll come tearing through the house to find me – or pull me away from a social gathering - only to tackle me to the ground with an intense heat in his eyes, and I can only lend myself to his will, to let myself be used to drag him back to the other side.  
  
 

It reminds me of our time together during the war, when he couldn't stand that he was wasn't fighting so he'd wrestle with me until we both couldn't breathe properly. And just like back then, I don't really mind at all, happy that I'm here and can be there for him as he needs me and not in some distant country while he sucks in smoke and tries to shut out the splitting in his head.  
  
 

Of course it's not just sex that he's found an outlet in but in cooking as well, baking in particular, kneading his hands through the dough almost a cathartic experience for him. He'll close his eyes and pour his strength into the sticky substance, rolling it against the powdered surface of the counter and coming away with flour smudged across his cheeks and brow and dusting his hair. I like to watch him work when he doesn't know I'm there, the peaceful expression on his face almost hypnotic.  
  
 

"You make it sound so easy." Harry leans his forehead against mine as he eases his hand out from under mine.  
  
 

"Well you're a Gryffindor, if it comes down to it just tap into that infamous courage of yours."  
  
 

"You mean famous?" He takes a step back and tries to sooth his hair to no avail.  
  
 

I shake my head. "No I had it right, now go before Weasley comes and sets our house on fire to get you moving."  
  
 

With one last kiss and a promise to be along shortly, Harry spins on the spot and vanishes, the air where he was standing shimmering and displaced for a moment before it's gone. I still hate watching him do that, it feels a little too raw still to have him gone so suddenly and even though I know I'm being silly and overly dramatic, I stare at the spot he just vacated and touch my still warm tingling lips.  
  
 

"Stop it." I grumble to myself, forcing my hand to my side and turning sharply away, annoyed that still after all these months that there's a tiny part of me that fears that this is all a dream - that I'll wake up in the dark one of these days to find that I never really escaped Bella, that I'm still under her ritual, that this is all just my imagination - a way to cope with my actual reality.  
  
  
 

All in all I'm doing so much better that I barely recognize myself at times. I can touch Harry and not fear tainting him, I can merge into the flow of a crowd and not cringe from the press of bodies, I can listen to all the chatter around me and not dread the broken silences and the shifting shadows. For the most part I feel broken but whole, like a shattered picture with all the pieces accounted for and slowly merging back together. There are times when it's painful, times where I'd rather run from it and not face the issues and questions it brings up, but I find my strength and press through because even though it hurts I don't want to let any of the pieces go.  
  
 

I want to be reformed and I will be, one day I will no longer be fractured.  
  
 

And like Harry has his cooking I've found that I love working with my hands, using my own strength to complete tasks. I spent weeks fixing the old cottage after we moved in, replacing broken steps, squeaking floorboards, and missing shingles and painting the side of the house where the paint had completely faded away. I laid on my back with my head under the sink, trying to coax the ancient plumbing back to life, and nearly electrocuted myself when I started fiddling with the wiring that ran through the walls of our bedroom - much to Harry's amusement.

 

I like the feel of things solid under my touch, like that I can know what something is just by the feel of it - whether it be our cottage inside and out or the stretch of sand outside our door that proceeds and ends each run I take or every little curve and dip of Harry's body and rise and fall of his voice.  
  
 

I want it all written into my fingers, like a new map that I can regain my footing by and therefore often forgoing the use of magic in my day to day life.  
  
 

Yet it's not about fear anymore, it's not about keeping my heritage down so I won't give into the wolf inside. I haven't felt the darkness since that day Bella strapped me down into her ritual but there's times where I'm unsure if it's gone or if it’s just lying dormant. Because even after all the days and hours I've spent contemplating it, I can't know if I was horcrux for sure and if I was, if I managed to kill it that day. I don't think I'll ever have a complete answer to those questions and there's times I worry I'll give into my doubts and try to back away again and those are the moments I need Harry's strength the most, the times I need to cling to him instead of my own thoughts.  
  
 

I refuse to back pedal even in the moments where I can't help but stare at my hands and wonder about all the blood that's graced my knuckles and feel the air suck out of my lungs like something’s pulling it from me.  
  
 

But I don't crave the fight anymore, I just miss it, I miss Donnie and Caleb and the pumping in my veins and the roar in my ears, but I don't need it - not like I did. It's like a hobby now, a way to keep healthy and fit, with the desire to compete creeping up every now and then but mostly I'm happy keeping it where it is - sparing with Harry and shadow boxing.  
  
 

I know one of these days that I'll need to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life, as will Harry, but not now - not yet.  
  
 

The cloak is thick and heavy and weighs down on my shoulders as I settle it around myself, trying not to be annoyed that I can't wear my normal clothes and my comfortable wool jacket instead. Concentrating with my destination firmly in mind, I turn and lurch through space, coming out on the other side on unsteady feet and with a turning in my stomach, my vision pulsing around the edges as I try to regain myself.  
  
 

"Alright there mate?"  
  
 

I nod quickly, squeezing my eyes shut and clutching at the waist of the cloak, the fabric soft beneath my fingers. "Yes."  
  
 

"Good, good." Neville Longbottom surveys me from the corner of his eye as he simultaneously peers around at the other arriving guests on the magically warmed lawn. "I hate weddings. Don't tell Gin that though, she didn't sleep a wink last night she was so excited."  
  
 

Feeling the ground solid under my feet once more, I nod again, noticing with a twinge of jealousy that he's wearing a pair of fitted black slacks and a slimming white button down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. No robes. No cloak. He doesn't even look cold - than again I'm starting to get a bit hot as I realize that the bubble I've entered hasn't just been warmed but is almost near boiling.  
  
 

Stupid weasel and his damn lilies. He's going to end up melting all his guests.  
  
 

"Sure it wasn't more to do with her uncontrollable vomiting?" I quip, remembering the last time I had seen Neville he had been bemoaning his wife's pregnant state that was making her violently ill. I still have a hard time believing that he has somehow become my closest friend since we've returned - his easy, straightforward nature like a breath of fresh air in comparison to Weasley who runs drastically hot and cold and Granger who over analyzes everything. His redheaded wife, and consequently Harry's ex, the only thing that makes some of our times spent together a little awkward.  
  
 

Ginny hates me still, even with a handsome, rather brilliant botanist of a husband and the fact that even if Harry wasn't with me he wouldn't be with her - considering he's gay. Or Draco-sexual as he likes to call it but I think that's just him being sappy. But then maybe it isn't the fact that I'm still with Harry, since she does seem to love Neville but the fact that she likes to think that I stole him away and apparently if you stole her boyfriend at any point in your life that automatically puts you on her hated for all-time list.  
  
 

Not that I mind. She seems rather tedious.  
  
 

"Uncomfortable?" He asks as I yank the cloak off, huffing in the heat and wishing very much my robes weren't so...everywhere.  
  
 

"This is ridiculous." I toss the cloak at Neville and swiftly undo the next few buttons of my robe, flicking a piece of hair out of my eyes. "I can't wait till this bloody thing is over."  
  
 

"Oh it's good for you Draco." He smiles, his teeth white and straight and nearly glittering in the sun. "You barely ever leave that cottage of yours."  
  
 

"I've been renovating."  
  
 

"You've been hiding."  
  
 

"Well what’s out here but people I don't particularly like and apparently vomiting wives and artificial summers? Not much incentive."  
  
 

Neville snorts and with a wave of his hand vanishes my cloak. I'm not sad to see it go. "Of course not, not with Harry holing up in there with you. You heard the Ministry is trying to hire him?"  
  
 

I wave a dismissive hand and fall in step beside him as we make our way under the flowery arch that reeks of lilies and roses. "Of course but he's not interested. I do believe he equated the idea to sleeping on a bed of nails."  
  
 

"Hogwarts then?"  
  
 

"What?" I stop, staring at Neville as he smiles at me, the thin square wired glasses perched on his nose framing his eyes and reflecting the sun with a twinkle - making him look remarkably like the professor he is.  
  
 

"Their looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He stops and contemplates me for a moment before continuing, clearly gauging my minute reactions as he does. "I recommended Harry."  
  
 

A movement over Neville's shoulder catches my attention as his news washes over me, my eyes landing on Harry standing across the lawn with a grin as he spots me, winking at me as someone I don't recognize talks at him. He looks relaxed despite his apprehension and I find myself smiling softly back at him.  
  
 

"Full time?" I hear myself ask, vaguely noticing Neville nod in the corner of my eye.  
  
 

"I believe so, he wouldn't have to live there so you guys could still keep the cottage." He reassures me and I feel the little panic I hadn't realized was racing through me subside. I don't think I could live close to Hogwarts...too many unhappy memories for me.  
  
 

But not for Harry. Perhaps this is the step we need, a little push in some sort of direction and Harry would be an excellent teacher, not to mention that he loves Hogwarts. He could roam the halls he once called home and teach a new generation of children that will no doubt idolize him, breaking their little teenage hearts and inspiring all the others. He could have a purpose again.  
  
 

More importantly he could start living again and not just in the bubble we've created around ourselves. A bubble we love yes, but a bubble none the less, and one we can't stay in forever. It's a terrifying thought though, taking another step into a further unknown. My heart beats a little faster as I watch him smile and shake hands and laugh at something someone says, a small part of me unwilling to let anything change, to take any steps that will take him from me.  
  
 

But then that's not really living is it? Life is about risks, without them I wouldn't be where I am today. I wouldn't be me, I wouldn't have Harry, and in all reality I would most likely be dead. It's bloody scary but then it's not a risk if there's a clear path with a shining light at the end.  
  
 

Harry reaches up and tucks his hair behind his ear, my ring flashing in the sunlight, and I feel myself settle, my blood humming in my veins. No matter what happens, I'm never going back. I may not know what the future holds or if I'm through with the war inside me but there is one thing I know for sure as Harry's eyes dance in the light as he locks them on mine, his lips curving into a silently posed question.  
  
 

The world is moving on and us with it and for once, I'm not afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over!!! I'm so sorry for the gaps of time between updating these past few months and I appreciate everyone who stuck with me and read this. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it and I'd love to hear from you if you did :)


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